


Building Home on Something Broken

by defendedbymypen



Series: Revolution, New York [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (you're gonna have to wait for that one though), Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, BAMF Eliza Schuyler, Bullying, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Lafayette is a pure angel, M/M, Pain, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Peggy is a troll, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Washingdad, Xenophobia, like really really really gay, lots of that too i promise that, really gay, there will be fluff I promise, yeah it's gonna be a Mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defendedbymypen/pseuds/defendedbymypen
Summary: lmfao just kidding i'm never updating again byeedit: y'all too wild. i may (MAY) pick this back up in the next couple of months. maybe. possibly. I love you guys, you're ridiculousAlexander has been running for the past six weeks.When he shows up in the relatively small town of Revolution, New York, he doesn't expect much. He doesn't expect it to become home. He certainly doesn't expect to find friends, relationships, even a family. Truth is, Alex figures he's probably going to die before he reaches twenty. That's the way things seem to be going for him--because Alex has a secret.(Extraordinary. A freak. Alone.)Trouble is, the town of Revolution, New York isn't exactly the most ordinary place. And maybe the kids he meets there have a little more in common with him than he first imagines.The way he sees it, this is either going to be a miracle or certain death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> H I ! ! ! ! ! 
> 
> First multichap fic, here we go. Yes, it's a magic AU, because I can so there. 
> 
> Ohoho boy, first chapter, I'm so unbelievably excited for this...!

. 

. 

. 

Magic had always been a part of his life.

At first it was simple. At first it was nothing more than the little whispered stories his mother had told him, which, for so long, he believed were just that: stories.

Then it was more. Then it was small, almost unnoticed phenomena that happened all around him throughout his childhood, things that he could never quite explain.

And one day- finally- the shock, the awe, the _terror_ that had come with the realization that _he_ had magic. That he could do things no one else could, that he was special. Extraordinary. A freak. _Alone_.

He didn't know it yet, but the world was absolutely teeming with magic that a select few knew about, and that there were others out there, like him. He didn't know it yet, but he wasn't as alone as he thought he was.

For so long, he'd been completely on his own in the world, fending for himself against the worst of humanity.

For so long, he'd had no one.

Until the day that he met a very distinct group of people who would change his life forever.

.

.

.

He didn't know how long he'd been running for.

He couldn't remember when he had last slept. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten.

All Alexander knew was that his legs burned and the night was dark. It was the kind of deep, penetrating, frozen darkness that you only really sense in those empty hours past midnight—when it feels as though the whole world must be asleep. It was a darkness that sucked at his energy and sapped his strength, a darkness that made him want to curl up and sleep for eternity.

But Alex couldn't afford to sleep for even a few minutes, much less for eternity. He had to get to the nearest bus stop by the time the first bus arrived at six o'clock in the morning. That hour was ages away, but the stop was _miles_ away, and the only way he was going to get there in time was by running like his life depended on it.

Funny how well that expression applied to the situation; Alex's life did, in fact, depend on it.

But that—that was a story for another time. Alex didn't have time to think about the reason he was running for his life. He didn't have the mental energy to spare. His mind was a turmoil of endless thought, all of which was trained on a single focal point: where he was going and how he was going to get there.

About where he was going: well, he didn't actually _know_ where. He honestly had no clue what his destination was.

All he knew was that he was going _somewhere_ . That he _did_ have a destination. That he wasn’t just running away from somewhere, he was running to somewhere.

He just didn’t know exactly where that _somewhere_ was.

It was something inside him that called, his instincts pulling him in the direction of he didn't know what. And his instincts—well, maybe it was more than just instinct, yes, now that he really thought about it, it was _quite_ possibly related to his magic—hadn't failed him yet.

As for how he'd get there—well, that was trickier. Alex was still working that part out.

He knew he needed to get on the bus. He'd grab a map and a schedule at the stop, ride as far as he could in the right direction (what even _was_ the right direction? he wasn't entirely certain), then hop off at the last stop and ask around to figure out where he could get on a different bus system, and from there—well.

He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

_If_ he came to it, that is—if they didn't find him before then.

He had to tell himself he'd lost them by now, that they wouldn't catch him. Had to hold on to some miniscule form of hope. He'd always been able to talk his way out of any situation—either that, or he'd write his way out. That was how he'd escaped—by talking, that is. Clever words rolling off a silver tongue, along with a lot of luck and fighting for his life, had granted him his escape, and he couldn't waste that opportunity. So he put those words to use as he talked to himself, muttering under his breath, convincing himself he'd be fine.

If he didn't hold onto this, he knew wouldn't be able to keep going.

"It's fine—it's fine—they won't, they won't find you—you're fine, you're okay, you're—" He gasped for breath. "You're gonna—you're gonna be fine—"

His feet pounded the ground, one after another, lungs screaming, legs burning.

Gasping, panting, Alex kept running. He was quick. He'd always been quick. But this—this was _exhausting_. This was beyond anything he'd ever endured—well, no, he knew he'd endured far, far worse, back before—

But Alex _did not think about before._

He couldn't. He didn't think about the torture—

About the pain—

About the darkness, the eternity of days and nights that faded into one long, endless blur—

About _Thomas_ —

And just that name, just that thought was enough to make Alex nearly break down crying right then and there. _Don't think about it. You can't think about it—you can't—you can't afford to—_

"Thomas," he gasped out, though it came out as less of a name and more of a choked sob. His mind was whirling faster now, thoughts and memories he didn't want coming crashing down around his ears.

Oh god, Alex just wanted to be _safe_ again.

But for now, he couldn't be. For now, he just had to keep running.

.

.

.

Alex reached the bus stop at 5:37 in the morning. He felt his eyes prickle with relief as he staggered over to the bench and sat down, his legs feeling like rubber. He had been so afraid he wouldn't make it.

It had been—six weeks? Yeah, that sounded about right—six weeks since he had escaped. Six weeks of running, catching buses, scrounging for food, hiding whenever he allowed himself a chance to sleep (which wasn't often). Six weeks of constant fear and desperation. He knew he had probably thrown them off his trail by now, but he was still constantly anxious about it, because just one slip-up was all it would take for them to find him.

They wanted him for his magic.

And they weren't going to give it up that easily. So until he reached- well, wherever he was going- until he got there, he wasn't going to stop.

If he'd missed the bus this morning, he would've had to wait another two hours before the next one, which was always much more crowded. And if there was one thing Alex avoided like the plague, it was other people.

But that didn't matter. That didn't matter, because it hadn't happened, and everything was going just as he planned. The bus driver would hardly notice him. He'd keep his hood up, find a seat near the back, and do his best to appear very small. (It's not like it would take much effort. However much he hated to admit it, Alex was _tiny_.)

It was fine. This was fine. Everything was going according to plan. It was going to be fine.

Alex let himself breathe a sigh of relief, if only just for a moment.

He nearly fell asleep on the bench, and when the bus pulled up it nearly drove right by. Alex jumped to his feet, mentally cussing up a storm, and sprinted toward the bus and up the steps. He fumbled for the cash he kept in his shoe—because everyone knew that shoes were the safest place to keep your money; anyone could grab a purse and run off, but shoes? that was a little trickier—and shoved it awkwardly into the driver's hand.

He didn't bother saying anything. He never did. He wasn't supposed to be noticed. He stayed quiet and kept his face impassive, though he winced slightly as he handed the money to the driver.

He'd had to steal to get bus fares.

He never stole too much at once—just a dollar or two here or there, careful and subtle pickpocketing—but his stomach still twisted with guilt every time he had to use the stolen money. He was literally doing it to survive, yeah, and he didn't exactly have other options, so maybe it was justifiable, but it still felt so _wrong_.

Alex shuffled to the back of the bus. He let his body sag as he dropped into a seat. After a moment of just sitting there, he finally curled up and hugged his knees to his chest, assuming his usual resting position, instinctively making himself as small as possible and curling in on himself for protection. Months in captivity had taught him that but _no. No, no, Alex was_ **_not_ ** _thinking about that_.

A shuddering breath that nearly turned into a sob shook his entire body.

He was so, so tired.

A few minutes of studying the bus schedule gave him an idea of about when he'd need to get off. If he stayed on the bus for the entire day while it made its rounds again and again, until it made its final stop at the edge of the city, he could get in a good fourteen hours. That was a lot of sleep, and he knew he needed every second he could get if he was going to start running again. At the back, no one would notice him.

Just this once, maybe, he could let himself rest a little bit.

After setting the alarm on his cheap, battered watch for about 7:30 P.M., Alex dropped his head onto his knees and was asleep within seconds.

.

.

. 

"And then John said—are you listening, papa _?"_

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes, Gilbert... you were saying?"

George set down his paper, and the young teenager in front of him frowned. "You were not listening," the boy said in a thick French accent, his tone accusatory.

George smiled, though to the boy before him, it seemed tighter, more restrained than his usual easy grin. "I'm sorry, son. I'm listening now. You were... ah, saying something about John?"

"Oui, he made a very amusing joke at lunch today..."

He paused for a long moment.

"Papa, something is wrong. You are upset." It was not a question.

"It's nothing, Lafayette. Just... the paper. Something about a missing child a few cities over. I know it's silly, but every time, I can't help but wonder..." He trailed off, reluctant to elaborate. He didn't need to. The boy before him, Lafayette, clearly understood his implications.

"It is not silly," he said, his voice softer now, sadder. "We do not know how many of them are out there. It is not silly to be sad for those we cannot help."

George sighed and pressed his fingers to his temple, and Lafayette frowned, noting how stressed the man looked.

"I know we're doing the best we can, Martha and I," George said. "We've put up protection spells around the house and the school. We protect you all, and any other kids who find us, but I wish there were a better way to help them. We know how dangerous it is to have magic, and a lot of kids don't, and then when _they_ come for them, the kids don't stand a chance."

"Oui," Lafayette said sadly. "But you try, non _?_ You have helped me, Herc, John, and mes soeurs. Without you, we would have been..." He hesitated, unwilling to say the word.

_Dead_.

Without George, they both knew that Lafayette would have been dead long ago, and his friends most likely would be as well.

George and Martha Washington were living in a very unique situation. Sometimes he wondered when exactly his life had become this crazy. He'd grown up in a relatively normal household, had a relatively normal childhood. He'd had no idea that magic even existed, but then, that made perfect sense. Very, very few people ever had or ever would know about it.

Now, it was such a prominent and necessary part of his life, he almost couldn't remember what it was like not knowing about it.

He honestly couldn't quite pinpoint the moment his life had become so irrevocably intertwined with the world of magic. He supposed it wasn't long after he met Martha—perhaps it was when he proposed to her. Perhaps it was when they'd agreed to become foster parents...

It wasn't long after they received their license that Lafayette entered their lives, and from there, things only proceeded to become crazier and crazier.

Lafayette was a wild one, for certain. He possessed a very unique brand of magic, one that neither Martha nor George had ever even heard of before meeting him. His friends' magic was a little more common and thus a bit easier to deal with, considering Martha's background in the field.

And as Lafayette had just reminded him, the kids all probably would have been dead without the Washingtons' intervention.

With a heavy sigh, George pulled Lafayette into an embrace. "I know, son," he said.

The somber moment was interrupted by the loud, unmistakable sound of a door being kicked open.

Loudly.

"WE'RE _HOME!"_ a voice boomed, loud and proud and distinct enough that Lafayette knew immediately it could be only one person.

"Peggy!" the boy cried, leaping to his feet.

"We're also home," another voice spoke up, more tentative, as Lafayette raced from the living room into the foyer. "Just, you know. Not quite as loudly."

Lafayette grinned when he caught sight of his adoptive sister, Peggy. Eliza and Angelica were right behind her, and Lafayette immediately recognized Eliza as the one who had just spoken. The three had stayed after school for extracurriculars, which was why they were home so late.

"Mes soeurs," he said joyfully, running forward and sweeping Peggy up into a hug. He pulled Eliza and Angelica into the embrace, too, and both were laughing.

"Hey, Laf," Peggy said brightly once she had pulled back and dropped her bookbag on the floor. "Guess what we did in art club today?"

"I am going to guess that you did art," Lafayette responded dryly.

"Oh, very funny," Peggy responded, shoving his arm playfully. "We started our clay sculptures! I already told Ange and Liza all about it, and man, you should have seen John's. It was _incredible..._ "

"Oui, I have no doubt, mon petit," Lafayette said, nodding. He was very familiar with his best friend's artistic capabilities. "I cannot wait to see these sculptures. When will you be finished?"

"A few weeks, probably," Peggy said, shrugging. She then grinned mischievously at Lafayette and added, "And don't ask for any details, because you're not getting any. It's a surprise."

"We already tried," Eliza admitted. "She wouldn't crack even under Angie's superior interrogation skills."

"I must say, that's impressive," George said, walking up behind them.

"Dad!" Peggy cried. "Hi!"

"Hello, Peggy. Hello, girls. Welcome home," George said with a warm smile. "Angelica, how was cross-country practice?"

"It was death," Angelica said bluntly, kicking her shoes off and hanging her backpack on the coat rack. "But, you know. In a good way."

"Oh! Guess what happened in debate club?" Eliza asked—lightly, casually, but George could sense how eager she was.

"Hm. Some kid was spouting nonsense that was completely annoying, elitist, and improperly researched on top of that?"

"No—well, yes, but that's not what I was going to mention, I was going to tell you about this new kid, Thomas—but, I mean, yeah, there was someone spouting nonsense. It was Samuel Seabury, the little son of a—"

"And then," Lafayette joined in gleefully, "allow me to guess. This annoying, elitist kid was saying terrible things, and you absolutely _cooked_ him!"

There was a blank pause.

Lafayette hesitated for a second. "You... fried him? Uh—" He fumbled for words. "Sauteed him?"

"Um," Peggy coughed, "she _roasted_ him?"

"Yes! Yes, that is the word I am looking for!" the French teen announced triumphantly, and the three girls exchanged looks before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter.

"Sauteed!" Angelica gasped. " _Sauteed!"_

Lafayette's face heated up with embarrassment. "It—oh, mon dieu, you and your American colloquialisms!"

"No, no, Laf, it's okay," Eliza said, shaking her head, still giggling slightly. "It's fine, we're not trying to make fun of you, and yeah, American colloquialisms are weird, it's just— _sauteed_. Haven't heard that one before. Ah, we shouldn't be laughing at you, I'm sorry."

Lafayette's lips quirked up into a smirk, and he crossed his arms. "Well. My English is better than your French, so I don't want to hear it."

After the girls had calmed down a bit—Peggy couldn't seem to stop snickering under her breath—and put away their school things, they all settled into their usual after-school routine. Eliza grabbed an apple from the kitchen and the book she was currently reading and flopped on the couch, completely immersed in the story within seconds. (Peggy liked to joke that she might as well be comatose whenever she had a book in hand, as she became completely unresponsive.)

Peggy, meanwhile, raced upstairs to work on who-knows-what—likely her latest elaborate practical joke setup—and Angelica pulled out her schoolbooks and didn't hesitate to get down to business, working on an essay for her AP European History class.

Lafayette shuddered to think of Peggy's next prank. He'd been the victim of many since they'd taken her in. Each one was incredibly complicated and well thought-out, and they usually took days upon days of planning and hours of setup, not to mention they usually somehow involved her magic (which fit the job description perfectly).

Lafayette sighed, running a hand through his hair as his mind went back.

Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy hadn't always lived with the Washingtons. There was a time they didn't talk about much—a time when they were ordinary kids living in an ordinary family. Well, Lafayette thought ruefully, they never were _really_ ordinary kids.

But there was a time when they'd all been able to believe that they were.

Lafayette recalled how he'd held Peggy when she cried, babbling in between sobs about how she couldn't remember. About how she wished, wanted, desperately _ached_ to remember. About the biological mother and father whose faces, after all this time, were nothing but blurred, abstract suggestions in her mind.

Eliza and Angelica had been a little older, so they remembered more, and Laf thought of how Eliza had sat up with him into the late hours of the night and whispered that, sometimes, she almost wished she couldn't remember. She almost wanted to forget. She figured it would hurt less.

"I wouldn't trade it for the world," she had said, so quietly that Lafayette, sitting inches away from her, could barely hear. "Those memories are all I have left of them. But sometimes..."

Angelica, through it all, pretended she was fine.

(She wasn't fine.)

Lafayette remembered, too. He tried not to. He'd witnessed his own mother's death firsthand, and not a day went by that the memories did not haunt him.

They'd all gone through their own shit, and somehow they'd all ended up here, together. With the Washingtons always looking out for them.

Lafayette marveled at how incredibly lucky he was to have such a safe space, a place where protection spells disguised his magical presence, a place where he had friends and a family he could connect with and share his burdens with, and a place where he, along with all of his friends, were free to feel _safe_.

.

.

.

Hours passed.

Alex dreamed.

He always dreamed when he slept. Some people claimed they didn't, but Alex always did. Nightmares, usually. It was hard to avoid. What with all he'd been through and how utterly screwed-up he was, nightmares were a common occurrence, a fact of life. It was undeniably worse back before—

But _he did not think about before_.

Alex stared out the bus window at the scenery as it flew by. He'd slept for nearly the entire fourteen hours on the bus. He was pretty sure the bus driver hadn't noticed the fact that he was both the first and last person on the bus, but it didn't matter. So long as he kept his hood up and hid his face, he'd be fine.

He took a deep, steadying breath.

Something underneath his skin was tingling. He could feel it all through his body, and that's how he knew that he was getting close. Wherever he was headed, he was almost there.

The bus stopped. It had made its rounds at least four or five times, and at nearly eight o'clock, the late September sky had only just begun to dim. Alex stood up and walked off the bus. The driver said nothing. Alex had, as he had suspected, gone unnoticed.

The stop was on the very edge of the town. This area was close to New York City—maybe a half-hour drive away. Alex shivered with excitement when he thought about it. Columbia University. Columbia University was in New York City. The school he'd dreamed of attending for years now.

He felt well-rested for the first time in ages. He was still desperately hungry, yeah, but he could ignore that. He'd learned how to ignore hunger pains, and he'd become so used to them that he almost didn't feel them anymore. _(Almost.)_ He'd been thirsty when he woke up, but by some stroke of luck, the bus stop also had a public water fountain.

Alex began the trek down the side of the busy street that led out of the small town. He was _so close,_ he could _feel_ it tugging at him, almost a physical pull at this point.

The sky slowly began to darken as he trudged forward. He didn't know how long he walked for, wasn't paying close attention to his watch.

He came to an exit sign, and printed clearly at the top of the sign was the name of a small town he'd never heard of before: Revolution.

Alex felt a strange rush as he realized that _this was the place_.

A chill ran up his spine at the thought of making his way into this unfamiliar town and starting school—because that's what he'd do, because he'd promised himself that once he reached his destination, he'd enroll in high school, because it didn't matter _how_ homeless he was or _how_ much of a freak he was, _Alexander was going to go to college, dammit_ —and honestly, Alex was scared. He hated to admit it, but there was a small part of him that was just absolutely terrified.

He had no idea what awaited him here.

It could be everything he needed.

Or it could be certain death.

After everything that had ever happened to him, Alex honestly, desperately believed that both were very, very possible. But his instincts were telling him to go for it, and, hey, he'd gotten this far by listening to his instincts.

And if this was Alex's one shot, then he sure as hell wasn't throwing it away. 

. 

. 

. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! It's me!! Happy Tuesday, everyone, and enjoy!!!

Okay. Forgery. Alex could manage that.

Yes, it was technically a crime, sort of, he  _ knew _ that. And it was  _ very _ much a crime on such official document as these, he knew  _ that _ , too. But he didn’t have any other options. He had to get into high school. He hadn’t been to school in months. Ever since—ever since he’d been—

_ nope, we’re not going down that road, we are  _ **_not_ ** _ thinking about that, Alex—  _

_ Anyway _ , it had been a good four months now. Luckily for Alex, most of that time had taken place over the summer, and he was only about a month late for his sophomore year. He could catch up in no time, he was sure. 

So with a few quick, clever lies and a convincing story, Alex managed to get ahold of the proper documents “for his parents to fill out later.” He’d filled out everything, double- and triple-checked it to make sure it was correct, and then—after just a brief moment’s hesitation—forged the signatures of two people who didn’t exist. His “parents”. 

Now there remained only one thing left to fill out: his last name. 

Alexander’s mother, Rachel Faucette, had never taken his father’s last name. After his father up and abandoned them, Alex had always used his mother’s maiden name as his own. Through all his years in the foster system, he was Alexander Faucette, and that was the probably the name on all of the “Missing Child” posters. If there were any. Regardless, whether or not people had made a big deal out of his disappearance (and he was relatively certain they hadn’t), it wasn’t a good idea to keep using the same name, especially if he wanted to avoid going back to the place where—

No. Alex _ was not. thinking. about. that _ . 

He tapped the pen against his chin. 

He could always use his father’s last name. 

Hamilton… 

He hated his father with a passion, yeah. Hated him for leaving Rachel Faucette and her little unborn baby boy to a life of poverty and hurting. But…  _ ”He is a part of you, just as I am _ ,” his mother had often said.  _ “You cannot spend your entire life running from your past. Do not be ashamed of having him for a father. Be proud and be yourself, and he will not mean a thing.”  _

His father’s name meant nothing to him. His father was nothing but an idea of a person, someone he’d never really known. It was just a name. 

Not  _ his _ name. 

But he supposed that, perhaps, it could be. 

He’d never lived in the state of New York before. Maybe he could be someone new here. He had the unmistakable feeling when he arrived that he was on the cusp of something new, something beyond his life before. Something  _ better _ . 

Something shifted in Alex as he inked the name for the first time on the document in front of him. Alexander Faucette was no more. His mind flashed back to all the books he’d read, all of his writing, all the nights without sleep and days without food, everything he’d done that had brought him to this moment. 

Things were going to be different here, he told himself as he handed the papers to the Revolution High School secretary. 

Things were going to be different here, he told himself as he looked over his school supply lists at all the things he couldn’t afford. 

Things were going to be different here, he told himself as he snuck behind a thrift store building and dug through the donation bins until he found what he was looking for: a school backpack, old and dirty and tattered, but it would suffice. 

Things were going to be different here, he told himself as he walked through the doors for the first time, trying to go unnoticed. 

Alexander Hamilton—huh. It had a nice ring to it. 

. 

. 

. 

There was a new kid at school. 

Most kids wouldn’t have necessarily cared. But most kids didn’t know what John knew. 

John Laurens had lived in this town and attended this school district for as long as he could remember. His father was from the south, but John and his sisters were born and raised right here in New York. John had spent his entire childhood here—most of which was relatively normal. 

Up until the day he was about nine years old. That was when he’d figured out just how not normal he actually was. From there, his life had… well, it had certainly taken a few turns. 

He’d never felt more alone than when he first figured out how much of a freak he was. 

And then, almost two years to the day he’d discovered he had magic, Lafayette showed up, a foster kid from France who could barely speak English. And yet despite every disadvantage, Lafayette just exuded confidence and enthusiasm, along with something that inexplicably drew John to him. 

The two became fast friends, one thing led to another, and they realized very quickly that they shared one very significant, very secret trait. Since then, they’d been completely inseparable. 

John had been there when the Schuylers showed up, when the Washingtons adopted the girls. He’d been there when Hercules Mulligan moved into town, and he’d been inducted into their little group almost immediately. 

So when Alexander Hamilton appeared with exhaustion in his eyes and a way of walking that made him seem smaller than he actually was, wearing the same dirty and ragged clothes every day, and that same indefinable quality that tugged John in his direction, he knew. 

He  _ knew _ . 

It had been a few days now, and Alexander Hamilton, though quiet at first, didn’t seem to have mastered the art of keeping a low profile. John swore his heart skipped a beat the first time the kid stood on a chair—on a  _ chair _ —to argue with one of their teachers, Mr. Burgoyne. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, honestly, just something about docking points for some multiple choice question on an English test that Alexander had disagreed with, but from the pure passion in his voice, you would’ve thought he was arguing to save his life. 

Honestly? He looked pretty cute, standing on the chair and spitting fire like that. Not that John would  _ ever _ admit it. 

Mr. Burgoyne was impressively tall and liked to use that to intimidate students, but Alexander proved very quickly that he was not one to be easily intimidated. Standing on the chair ended up landing him in detention, but Mr. Burgoyne did finally relent. 

He’d given Alex the test points back and a detention for his ‘insolence’. His glare was deadly, but from the way Alexander smirked, you would’ve thought the kid had just talked himself out of receiving the death penalty. 

At that moment, John had the brief thought that if anyone could pull that off, in all honesty, it was probably Alexander Hamilton. 

“The kid’s  _ insane _ ,” John said to Lafayette and Hercules during lunch that day. “Seriously, have you  _ seen _ him?” 

“Yes, we know, Laurens,” Hercules droned. “We’re  _ in _ your English class. We also witnessed the entire Burgoyne incident.” 

“I know, I know, but did you  _ see— _ ” 

_“_ Oui, John _,_ mon ami _, we saw!_ ” Lafayette burst out, sounding exasperated. “As we have said four times now! Why are you so obsessed with this Alexander?” Suddenly an idea seemed to dawn on him, and a devilish grin crossed his face. “Oh. _Oh_.” 

“What?” Hercules said, blinking in confusion. 

“It seems our John may have a small, how you say…  _ crush _ .” Lafayette waggled his eyebrows at John, and the curly-haired boy groaned, burying his face in his hands. 

“First of all,” John said, voice muffled, “you  _ know _ how to say crush, Lafayette. You only added the ‘how you say’ for dramatic effect.” 

“Me? Dramatic?” Lafayette leaped abruptly to his feet and gasped loudly, pressing a hand to his heart and feigning hurt. He lowered his voice, leaned forward over the table, and hissed, “ _ Never _ .” 

“And  _ second of all _ ,” John continued loudly, ignoring Laf’s antics, “I do  _ not _ have a crush on him. I just happen to… appreciate how passionate he is when he stands on chairs to yell about English tests.” 

“Right,” Lafayette said, rolling his eyes. Herc just smiled. 

“But guys, seriously.” John’s voice lowered and he leaned forward, suddenly very serious. “You did notice, didn’t you?” 

“Notice what?” Lafayette said, frowning. 

“There’s something…  _ more _ about Alexander. Like, you know—” John waved his arms in the air, frustrated, as he searched for words. “I think he might be like—like  _ us _ .” 

At this, Lafayette fell silent, pursing his lips. Hercules crossed his arms and sat back, his brow furrowed. 

“We haven’t met anyone else with magic since Hercules,” Lafayette said finally. “It has been a long time…” 

“But you feel it, don’t you?” John persisted. “You know there’s something different about him. You  _ know _ .” Just like John  _ knew _ . He couldn’t explain how, he just did, and he was sure Lafayette and Hercules did, too. 

At last, Lafayette nodded, relenting. “I do.” 

Hercules’ frowned only deepened at this. “I do, too. But, you guys… you know this isn’t good. Magic means trouble. You saw the kid. He’s definitely not in a good situation. Foster system, I’m guessing. Maybe homeless.” 

“We’ve got to talk to him!” John burst out. “If he  _ is _ in the foster system, then it  _ is _ a good thing he’s here, because we can help him. We’ve gotta tell G-Wash, you guys!” 

“John, mon ami,  _ why _ do you always call him—” 

“Seriously. Laf. Listen. We’ve got to talk to him. I’ve got no clue how he ended up here, but he’s probably really alone and really scared, just like we all were—ooh, I wonder what kind of magic he uses?” 

“Laurens, please, we don’t even know for sure,” Hercules cut in. “You can’t just—” 

“I wonder if he’s an elemental. Hey, that’d be really cool! Or maybe he’s got Laf’s magic—” 

“John,  _ no one _ has my magic.” 

“You don’t know that for certain! Hey, why don’t we just ask him? Right now?” John stood up suddenly, making his friends jump in surprise. “Where is he?! I’m going to find him!” 

“John Laurens,  _ no!” _ Hercules and Lafayette yelled, jumping up at the same time. 

“John Laurens,  _ yes _ ,” he cackled, and with that he darted away. 

Well. 

He tried to. 

Angelica Schuyler caught him by the arm, dragging him back to the lunch table and shoving him into his seat. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said. Eliza and Peggy were right behind her, carrying their lunch trays. 

“But  _ Angelica— _ ” 

“Nope.” Angelica sat herself down in the seat beside John’s. “I don’t know what’s going on, exactly, but I know it has something to do with the new kid, and if the expressions on Lafayette’s and Hercules’ faces are anything to go by, you were about to do something  _ incredibly _ stupid. So, no.” 

“Damn,” Hercules said under his breath. “You got _shut_ _down_.” 

John wanted to rip his hair out. 

“We must wait, mon ami,” Lafayette chided. “We must tell mon père about this, and then we will decide the best course of action. We could very well scare Alexander away by approaching him so soon, and if he is not one of us after all, we could put ourselves in danger.” 

With a groan, John dropped his head on the table with a  _ thunk _ . 

“Fine,” he said. “But when we do finally get to talk to him, dibs on being the one to do it.” 

He didn’t see the look that Lafayette and Hercules exchanged at that, nor did he see Lafayette mouth “He’s got it bad” to Angelica. If he had, he probably would have felt the strong desire to punch them. All of them. 

(Except maybe Eliza, she was too much of a sweetheart.) 

They moved on pretty quickly from the topic of Alexander, having collectively decided to put it away and talk about it later, and the rest of their lunch table talk was relatively normal. 

Well, as normal as it could get, at the very least. I mean, we  _ are _ talking about six teenagers with supernatural abilities, after all. 

When it came to being normal… let’s just say they didn’t quite fit the bill. 

. 

. 

. 

Alexander was trying very, very hard to  _ not be noticed _ . 

(He wasn’t doing a good job. At all.) 

His first couple of days had been okay. He stuck to the back of the classroom, didn’t raise his hand, and when he had to speak, he did so quietly and succinctly. The fear of being found still had him in its grip, and he did his best not to call attention to himself. 

However, there was only so much  _ absolute bullshit _ he could take listening to before he snapped. 

Mr. Burgoyne was an awful, arrogant, bigoted—well, let’s just say Alex had a few choice words for him and leave it at that. He spouted all kinds of crap during class that had made Alex grip his pencil so tightly that it snapped on one occasion. 

That stupid multiple choice question on the English test was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“It is absolutely not fair to dock points from the students who chose D!” Alex snapped. “B might be what  _ you _ consider to be the best answer, but look! You can make a perfectly sound argument using the passage for answer choice D, and I have! With quotes and everything!” 

Mr. Burgoyne stepped forward so that he was towering over Alex, who gritted his teeth, face flushed with anger. “Young man, you have no right to speak to me that way. I’m the teacher in here, and I say that answer choice D for question twenty-four is incorrect, so therefore it is.” 

“But that’s completely absurd!” Alex snapped. “Just because you’re the teacher doesn’t mean you automatically decide the rules of the English language and of reading comprehension!” 

“I’ve already said, do  _ not _ speak to me that way—” 

Now beyond angry, Alex jumped onto his chair and stood, now finally standing just a few inches taller than the nearly seven-foot-tall Mr. Burgoyne. (Honestly, that kind of height was ridiculous.) He cut Burgoyne off, speaking rapidly and furiously. 

“It’s absolutely  _ ludicrous _ that you think you have the right to alter the answer choices in any way you see fit,  _ especially _ when the entirety of this class is  _ founded _ upon the principle of being able to present well-written arguments defending a claim using textual evidence, which is  _ exactly _ what I have done to prove this answer! Simply the fact that you have sovereign power in the classroom does  _ not _ give you the right to intentionally harm your students’ grades when more than one answer choice can be considered correct!” 

Alex said all of this in the span of about six seconds, leaving Burgoyne looking decidedly paler but no less angry. 

“ _ Sit down immediately _ ,” Burgoyne snapped. “I’ll—I’ll change the grade, fine. But your insolence has earned you a detention, young man!” 

Still furious, Alex dropped into a sitting position, but he had still won. He’d gotten what he wanted using nothing but his words, and he definitely considered that a victory, detention or no detention. His lips twitched up into a smirk. 

Ha. 

He was still reveling in his glory when, about thirty seconds later, he was struck by a drastic realization: standing on a chair and screaming at a teacher about a test grade was… not exactly a good way to stay under the radar. 

Alex’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d done. He’d made himself stand out. He’d made himself noticeable. And, crap, that was  _ not _ a good thing. 

He knew it was too late to go back to being unnoticed now, but still Alex shrunk into himself as though trying to hide. He glanced around nervously, meeting the eyes of one curly-haired, freckled boy with hands covered in little splotches of color—paint, probably. Alex quickly broke eye contact. 

He had to be careful. Not only did his fits of passion garner much unwanted attention, but it was much more likely for his magic to slip when he was feeling strong emotion. If he wanted to keep it hidden, he need to have his emotions under control. He had to keep his anger in check—along with most of his other feelings. 

He had to stay calm. Yeah, he’d screwed up, but it wasn’t over, he’d be fine, he’d be fine, he’d be fine… 

He was still repeating that same mantra to himself when he ran into Angelica Schuyler in the hallway after class. 

She was tall, her presence commanding, with deep brown skin and a waterfall of dark curls pulled back into a ponytail. Alex wasn’t thinking, wasn’t looking, wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, too lost in his thoughts, and he crashed right into her, his piles of books and papers spilling everywhere. 

In an instant, his mind flashed back. 

To the last time he’d fumbled just like this, to the hand that came down to reprimand him— 

Without thinking, Alex let out a gasp, flinching backward. Shit, shit, shit, he was such an idiot, he should’ve been paying more attention—

The girl, meanwhile, bent down to pick up Alex’s books. 

He took a shuddering breath, quickly processing where he was and what, exactly, this tall and intimidating girl was doing. 

“Here. You dropped these. In case you didn’t notice,” she said, handing them to him. The look in her eyes was just slightly concerned, and with shaking hands, Alex reached out to take his books. 

“Th-thanks,” he stuttered, and once he’d spoken, it was like a dam had been opened. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been paying more attention, I’m probably making you late to class right now, I’m sorry, I should just go, I—” 

“Whoa, calm down, it’s fine, kid,” the girl said. She held up her hand, and Alex flinched back violently, nearly dropping his books again. Shit. There was no way she’d missed that. “You okay?” 

“I-I’m… fine?” he said, not expecting her question. 

She studied his face for just a second longer than Alex would have considered “normal”. Just an extra second, and suddenly, the look on her face morphed from concerned to suspicious. 

“What’s your name?” she asked. “I’m Angelica Schuyler.” 

_ Don’t call attention to yourself _ . Oh, wonderful, Alex was doing just  _ great _ at this. 

“I’m—I’m—I’d better go,” Alex stammered, and then he was gone, darting away and hoping to god he didn’t run into her again, because she’d definitely remember him if he did. The last thing he needed was more attention. 

So why was it that he was so good at getting just that? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheee... I love feedback v much and I'll see you next week, byyyee!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've noticed that a lot of you have been wondering what kinds of magic everyone has...!! 
> 
> There will be a big reveal in which EVERYONE'S magic is shown and explained, but that won't come for awhile. For now, there will be hints, and some of the characters' magic will be revealed gradually. 
> 
> Anyway. On with this week's chapter!!

“I met the new kid,” was the first thing Angelica said as she walked through the door that afternoon. 

“You met Alexander Hamilton? Did you speak to him?” Lafayette said, jumping up from where he’d been sitting on the couch and abandoning his video game. Hercules and John followed suit, opening their mouths to speak, but Angelica held up her hand to halt their questions. 

She frowned for a split second, remembering how the kid had reacted when she’d done that. 

“I ran into him in the hallway,” Angelica clarified as Peggy and Eliza wandered in from the kitchen to listen. “I don’t know about his name, but he’s definitely the new kid you guys were talking about. There’s no mistaking him. He’s got magic, for sure. And he’s  _ not  _ in a good situation right now.” 

“He told you that?” Eliza asked, surprised. 

“No.” Angelica didn’t elaborate; she didn’t need to. Her face said it all. 

The first thing she had noticed about Alexander Hamilton was the look in his eyes. There was just something about that look—intelligent eyes in a hunger pang frame. Angelica had realized altogether too quickly that she  _ knew _ that look. It was the look of a kid who’d grown up a little too fast, of a kid who probably couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent meal. 

She could remember a time that she’d seen that face in the mirror staring back at her every single day. 

“We need to tell papa,” Lafayette said urgently. “Right now!” 

“You haven’t already?” Angelica’s voice was incredulous. “All five of you have been home for over an hour!” 

“Hey, don’t look at me, I haven’t even met the kid yet!” Peggy held up her hands in a frantic “ _ I’m innocent!” _ gesture. 

“Neither have I,” Eliza agreed. Angelica rounded on Lafayette, John, and Hercules. 

“Uh…” Lafayette suddenly appeared very sheepish. 

“We kind of… got really caught up in the game…?” John offered, gesturing to the television. “It’s really engaging, you know, the graphics are absolutely  _ stunning _ —” 

“Laurens, you realize you’re not helping, right?” Herc deadpanned. 

Angelica dragged a hand down her face in exasperation. “Right,” she said. “Only you three. I swear… anyway, we need to tell Dad. Come on.” 

It still felt a little weird sometimes, calling George her father. After this many years of being his adoptive daughter, it was almost completely natural, but still… 

Angelica remembered when she’d called a different man her father. He still  _ was _ her father. He always would be, in her heart—right alongside George. 

After all, family didn’t have to be determined by blood alone, did it? Angelica would know that better than most. 

Angelica marched up the stairs to the second floor, where all of the bedrooms were. The eldest Schuyler sister guessed that her parents would be lying in bed together as they usually did after a long day, George with a stack of test papers in one hand and a red pen in the other, grading the work of his students, and Martha with either her research papers or a good book. 

“Mom? Dad?” Angelica knocked on the door to their bedroom. Lafayette was bouncing on the balls of his feet, seeming rather excited for someone who had completely forgotten about Alexander just moments ago. John, Hercules, Peggy, and Eliza were all crowded behind them, anxious to tell George and Martha about the news. 

“Come on in,” Martha’s voice called. 

Angelica pushed the door open, and immediately the kids all spilled into the room. 

“Well. Hello, kids.” Martha seemed taken aback. She tapped George on the shoulder, and he looked up, also apparently startled by the amount of teenagers in front of him. 

“Any particular reason for an impromptu family meeting?” Martha prompted, and no one pointed out that John and Hercules weren’t  _ technically _ a part of the family. Because, in all honesty, the term “family meeting” was still very accurate. 

Because they were a family. 

Maybe not officially, and definitely not by blood, but they were a family. 

“Yes, actually,” Angelica said. “We have something important to tell you—” 

_ “Alexander Hamilton!” _ Lafayette burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. The others leveled up with unimpressed looks. 

Martha only looked more confused, but George clearly understood. He sat up straighter, setting his papers aside temporarily. “Ah,” he said. “So you’ve noticed, too. Martha, the boy I was telling you about—that’s his name. Alexander Hamilton.” 

That hadn’t been quite the reaction they were expecting, to say the least. “Wait. Hold up. You mean you two have already discussed this?” Peggy said, cocking her head in confusion. 

“Of course,” George said. 

“And you weren’t going to  _ tell _ us?” she continued. 

“Well, clearly we didn’t need to,” George pointed out. “You seem to have figured it out all on your own.” 

“Well—well, aren’t we going to  _ do _ something about it? About  _ him _ ?” Lafayette pressed. “Angelica has said he is in trouble! He needs our help!” 

At this, George’s gaze sharpened, and Martha immediately set her book aside. “He needs help?” George repeated. 

Angelica shrugged. “I can tell he does. He’s got that look in his eyes. A kid who’s seen too much.” 

Immediately, the demeanor in the room shifted. 

“If you’re right, and he does need our help, we still need to tread lightly here,” George said firmly. “I noticed him the first day he walked in—the magic on him was obvious. I figured he’d sense your magic and come to you guys eventually, like John and Hercules came to Lafayette, but if he’s in a bad situation…” George paused, his eyes darting over Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy. 

“Then,” he continued, “he’s probably a lot more scared and a lot less likely to ask for help—even if he  _ can _ sense your magic.” George’s eyes narrowed in thought. “It’s possible he’s in a situation similar to the one you girls were in when you first arrived, but it could very easily be worse.” 

He paused for a long moment, considering. Finally, he said, “You’re going to have to approach him. There’s no other way around it, but listen to me,  _ do it carefully _ . Don’t all bombard him at once, and  _ don’t _ immediately bring up magic.” 

“Got it,” Angelica said, nodding. “We’ll just have one person approach him at first, then.” 

“Me!” John all but shouted, at the exact same time that Laf and Herc shouted, “John!” 

There was a moment’s pause. “Well, I guess that’s decided, then,” Angelica said. “John, you can try to talk to him at school tomorrow.” 

“Right,” John said. “I have a couple of classes with him. It shouldn’t be too hard.” 

Martha spoke up now. “If he’s really in trouble—and I trust that Angelica’s judgement is correct—we need to go about this a lot more carefully than if he weren’t. If things go wrong, I’ll be in the guidance office. And  _ please _ try not to interrupt one of George’s classes unless it’s an absolute emergency,” she added. 

“Yes, ma’am,” they all chorused. 

John, meanwhile, was grinning like a kid in a candy store. 

“But don’t bring up magic,” George warned. “ _ Whatever _ you do. We need to be careful about this. We don’t know who he is or why he’s here. It’s definitely a safer idea to at least get to know him first, and even then…” 

His gaze darkened as he paused. 

“Putting you kids in danger is the last thing I want to do,” he said with finality. 

. 

. 

. 

It had been a long morning. 

Alex stared at the clock. Burgoyne’s class was just so  _ tedious _ . Sure, Alex loved English, but the way Burgoyne taught it was absolutely mind-numbing. He’d much rather be writing essays than listening to Burgoyne drone on about how to properly use commas because  _ damn it, Alex already knew that, _ and he was just so sick of this. 

It didn’t help that the teacher kept shooting nasty glares at Alex. Apparently his outburst from the day before had not been forgotten. 

Eventually, Burgoyne finally seemed to realize that almost half the class had fallen asleep trying to listen to his lecture. He raised his voice slightly as he announced: 

“And now, I’d like you all to find a partner and complete this writing exercise!” Burgoyne waved a stack of papers in the air and began passing them out. Alex felt his stomach twist slightly. 

When the teacher handed him his worksheet, Alex spoke quietly, trying to sound as polite as he possibly could. “Um, sir? Would it be possible for me to work alo—” 

“Follow the instructions I gave you, Hamilton,” Burgoyne snapped loudly, and Alex curled in his toes and tried not to flinch. Great. A partner. This was going to be just wonderful. He could already see kids stealing meaningful glances at one another as they decided who was going to partner with whom, and of course Alex was going to be the one left without a partner, and since teachers just  _ loved _ to call attention to that sort of thing… 

Alex’s train of thought was interrupted quite suddenly when someone plopped down in the desk beside him. 

“Hey,” said a kid with a wide grin and curly brown hair. “Wanna be partners?” 

It took a second, but Alex recognized him. He was the one he’d seen yesterday, with the paint on his arms… Dropping his gaze, Alex noted the existence of ink stains on his hands today, instead of paint. So he was an artist, then. 

Blinking, Alex realized suddenly that he had yet to answer the boy. “U-um, yeah, sure,” he said, slightly startled. 

So he wasn’t going to be the odd man out, after all. 

It was a welcome stroke of luck. Alex decided in that moment that he liked this kid. 

“I’m John. John Laurens,” the boy said, sticking out his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, Alex took it, shaking John’s hand. “You’re Alexander, right?” 

“I—how—? Um, yeah,” Alex said, fumbling slightly over his words. “I, uh—I go by Alex, though.” He’d forgotten for a second how very memorable he’d made himself the day before. It was no wonder John remembered him. 

_ He probably hates you _ , a little part of his brain hissed at him.  _ He probably thinks you’re annoying. He’s just pitying you because he knows you’re the new kid…  _

_ Shut up _ , another part of his brain hissed right back. 

“You know, you’re a pretty interesting guy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone stand on a chair to yell about an English test before,” John said, raising his eyebrows. His freckles were adorable. Wait. Shit. Alex did not just think that. 

“Um. Yeah,” Alex said, laughing awkwardly. Great. He was doing an amazing job at this whole  _ conversation _ thing.  _ A-plus way to make friends, Alex _ . 

“Do you always get that passionate about English tests and things like that?” John asked casually. 

“More like just... things... in general. At all. Anything. I’m a passionate person,” Alex said. “Also, Mr. Burgoyne was full of crap. I was  _ not _ getting points docked for that question.” 

John grinned at him, and Alex decidedly ignored how cute he was. 

“Maybe we should get to work on these grammar exercises?” John suggested. “Also, maybe I should point out that I have absolutely no idea what the hell Burgoyne was talking about and commas are a mystery to me.” 

“Oh. I, uh, like to write,” Alex spoke up. “So… I guess you could say I know my way around commas.” 

“Really?” John perked up with interest at that. “What sorts of stuff do you write?” 

“Well, I’ve dabbled in poetry and fiction, but it’s usually essays of some kind, mostly on politics and stuff. Current events, popular debates, things like that. I try to experiment with my topics and my bias, too, get a well-rounded view of the situation, you know? So I do a lot of essays on the same topic sometimes, from different angles. I typically don’t let people read them, I don’t publish them or anything, just write for fun, which I guess is a little weird when you think about it, but it helps me relax, so I do it a lot, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa!” John cut him off, laughing. “Okay, damn. I can see why you like writing so much. You’ve got a lot to say.” Alex’s face heated up at that. “I mean, I don’t think it’s too weird. I draw.” 

“You what?” Alex blinked. 

“I, you know. I draw. And paint and stuff. I’m in the art club. It’s not… not a hobby a lot of guys have, I guess. My dad thinks it’s weird.” John shrugged, clearly just a little embarrassed about it. 

“Hobbies don’t have genders,” Alex deadpanned in response, and he must have said something right, because John’s lips quirked back up into a smile at that. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. They don’t. I’ve got a friend who’s into fashion, you know,” John said. “Wants to be a designer. Spends all his free time sketching and stitching clothes. People give him crap all the time for it because he’s a dude.” 

Alex scowled at that. 

_ Ugh.  _

_ People and their stupid orthodox gender roles.  _

“Hey, you wanna meet him?” John said suddenly. “My friend. His name’s Hercules, and he’s really cool. He and I are meeting up with another friend today after school at the coffee shop nearby. You should come!” 

At this, Alex’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

_ What? _

John saw the look on Alex’s face and immediately backtracked. “Oh—I—shit. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything. Just an offer.” 

Alex, meanwhile, was currently caught up in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Alex had just met him, and already this John Laurens person was being super friendly and even inviting him to go on an outing with his friends. And while he didn’t want to turn him down, didn’t want to come off as rude or standoffish, Alex seriously  _ did not _ need to get caught up in this. He didn’t need to be making friends. He didn’t need to be getting attached to people. His goal upon enrolling here was to get through high school with good grades, stay under the radar, and get into college all without dying. 

If anyone found out anything about his current situation, that was going to seriously mess with his plans. And meeting up with a bunch of guys outside of school significantly increased the chances of that happening. 

So why on earth Alex found himself nodding in agreement with the idea, he had absolutely no clue. 

“Okay,” he said. “That sounds fun. I—I’d like that.” 

There was just something about John. Something… familiar, in an odd, inexplicable way. 

Something that pushed Alex to say  _ yes _ . 

. 

. 

. 

They finished the stupid grammar worksheet that made Alex want to rip his hair out, and the rest of the day somehow dragged on and passed by in a blur at the same time. 

Nothing particularly memorable happened in any of his other classes—though he did catch a girl with long, straight dark hair eyeing him suspiciously during his American history class later, and the teacher, Mr. Washington, seemed to act oddly around him. But finally the end of the day came, and Alex was filled with both excitement and dread. 

So long as he acted like a normal, totally-not-homeless teenager who definitely didn’t know anything about magic, everything would be fine. He might actually make  _ friends _ for the first time in—well. For the first time,  _ period _ . 

Alex hurried to his locker, shoved his things into his backpack, and glanced down at the back of his hand, where he’d written John’s locker number. They’d agreed to meet there after school. He hastily made his way through the school, darting through the crowds with his shoulders hunched and his head down. 

John was leaning up against his locker, casually looking unfairly cute. His dark brown curls were pulled back into a ponytail, and he had a pair of headphones around his neck. He was wearing a distressed denim jacket that was clearly torn up as a fashion statement. 

Alex glanced down at his own old ripped jeans and hoped the holes came across as a style choice. 

“Hey, John,” Alex said, walking up to Laurens and offering a small wave. 

“Alex! Hi! C’mon, my friends are waiting outside.” John offered his hand, and Alex took it after a moment’s hesitation, allowing John to lead him through the throng of students. 

“Herc and Laf are great,” John was saying over his shoulder as they walked. “You’ll love them. Herc’s the one I told you about with the fashion design. His full name is Hercules Mulligan, and he’s really buff and a little intimidating at first, but trust me, he’s like a big teddy bear. He calls me Laurens instead of John most of the time, though I’m not exactly sure why, so I call him Mulligan to retaliate.” 

_ Sounds like an interesting guy _ , Alex thought to himself as John continued. Though if John was anything to go by, “interesting” might not even begin to cover it with this kid. 

“And then there’s Laf, who’s amazing. He might be a little overwhelming at first—he gets really excited about stuff like this, especially considering it’s you—but he’s really cool once he calms down. You’ll love them, I promise.” 

Alex nodded along as he followed John through the crowded halls, though he briefly frowned in confusion at John’s words— _ especially considering it’s you _ . He didn’t even know the kid—at least, he was pretty sure he didn’t, and he was pretty sure this Laf person wouldn’t know anything about him, either. 

He dismissed the thought as unimportant. 

John led him out the doors of the school to the bike racks. Two teenagers were waiting there, chatting amicably with one another. Alex thought both of them looked a little familiar—no, that wasn’t it. As they got closer, he realized they  _ felt _ familiar, just like John did. 

He was starting to get a little suspicious of the feeling. He’d brushed it off as his imagination earlier, but now… 

“John!” the taller one with the dark, coily hair cried suddenly, and—wow, this kid practically  _ radiated _ excitement. “Oh, and you have brought Alexander!” He rushed forward, arms open wide, and Alex sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled back, squeezing his eyes shut, his entire body tensing. 

He opened his eyes a few seconds later, and he relaxed slightly when he saw that the boy had just hug-tackled John.  _ Right. He was safe. These were ordinary high-schoolers, they weren’t going to hurt him, not like—  _

_ Not like—  _

“You must be Alexander, non?” the tall boy said in a thick French accent. 

“Um… yes,” Alex responded, racking his brain for the rules of polite conversation, which he had suddenly entirely forgotten, along with seemingly everything else in his brain. “I, uh, I go by Alex though. Um—it’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?” 

Bland. But whatever. At least he hadn’t completely frozen up. 

“I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” the boy introduced himself proudly. Alex faltered for a second, and he was distinctly aware of the very exaggerated eye-roll of the boy behind him. 

“Seriously, Laf?” he muttered. 

“You may just call me Lafayette, of course, seeing as that is quite a mouthful,” the tall boy said, winking. 

“You’re a _ freaking marquis? _ ” Alex said. “That’s—that’s French nobility. What the hell.” 

“Oui, it is, but I do not really hold a claim to the title any longer,” Lafayette admitted. “I suppose I still say it because it is hard to—how you say—beat the dead dog with a stick?” 

There was a very long pause. 

“ _ Non, non _ , that’s not it,” Lafayette muttered under his breath. “It is hard to—ah—teach an old dog new tricks! Yes, that’s it. It is an old habit to introduce myself like that. It’s hard to break.” 

“Beat the dead dog with a stick,” John mumbled to himself, shaking his head.  _ “Beat the dead dog with a stick.”  _

The boy standing behind Lafayette stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Alex,” he said. “I’m Hercules Mulligan. You just moved here or something? How d’you like it here?” 

“Uh—I—yeah. I moved from, um, across the state,” Alex said. 

“What city?” 

“Huh? Oh. Unimportant. Here’s nice, though. I like it. The school’s good.” Alex internally cringed. That was probably just about the worst deflection ever, but thankfully, Hercules didn’t push it. 

“Yeah. We’ve got mostly pretty good teachers. I mean, except for Burgoyne. I don’t think anyone likes him,” Hercules said, and Alex nodded fervently. 

“My answer for question twenty-four on that test was  _ perfectly justified _ . I mean, seriously! I presented a  _ very _ strong argument using evidence from the text, and everyone knows that theme in fictional works is a subjective issue, anyway, and I was  _ not _ about to let that stand,” he said, already getting red in the face again at the thought of it. 

Hercules grinned. “We could tell.” 

“You made your point very well when you stood on that chair, mon ami,” Lafayette said. “I do not think I have ever seen Monsieur Burgoyne that angry before.” He added under his breath, “Et je ne pense pas qu'il ait apprécié être regardé par quelqu'un de si court.” 

Alex blinked for a second at this, taking a moment to process what Lafayette had said in French. 

_ And I do not think he appreciated being looked down upon by someone so short.  _

Upon realizing what the other boy had said, Alexander’s chest swelled with indignation. Before he even had a chance to think about what he was doing, he spat out a retort in the same language. 

“Appelez-moi une fois de plus et vous dirai au revoir à vos genoux!” 

_ Call me short one more time and you’ll be saying goodbye to your kneecaps! _

Needless to say, Lafayette looked very, very taken aback by this. 

He opened his mouth and then closed it several times without speaking. John and Hercules were staring at Alex with equal expressions of shock on their faces. There was a long, pregnant pause. 

“Tu parle français?” Lafayette burst out suddenly, his face lighting up. “Tu parle français!  _ Tu parle francais! _ C'est incroyable!” His face suddenly turned deadly serious, and he stepped forward, taking Alex’s hands in his. 

“Alexander. Tu es mon nouveau meilleur ami,” he said in solemnly. 

“Uh,” Alex responded eloquently. 

“Wait, what’s going on here? I’m lost,” John said helplessly. 

“Ditto,” said Hercules. 

“Um, Lafayette just… proclaimed me as his new best friend?” Alex offered, and John stared at him for a second before starting to laugh. 

“Okay, you know what, I’m not surprised,” the curly-haired boy admitted, while Hercules feigned a hurt expression at Laf’s words. “Lafayette’s been trying to get us to learn French for ages. He’s—Laf.  _ Laf _ , oh my  _ god _ , Lafayette, are you crying? Mulligan. Mulligan, Laf’s  _ crying _ . Over  _ French _ .” John was almost doubled over laughing at this point. 

“I am sorry, it is just...” Laf paused, reaching up to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m so happy. This is so emotional for me. It’s been a very long time since I have heard my home language spoken with—with such ease. So fluently. Alexander, je me sens si chanceux de vous avoir rencontré.” 

_ I feel so lucky to have met you. _

Alex turned slightly pink. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you, too. I learned French the same way I learned English, so I’ve known it forever. My mom spoke it.” He shifted his feet, the attention making him uncomfortable. 

“Don’t worry, Alex. Laf gets emotional over everything,” Herc put in, seeming to sense Alex’s discomfort. 

“Not  _ everything _ ,” Laf argued.

“Just yesterday you were crying about snakes!” 

“Because they do not have any  _ arms _ ,” Laf wailed. “It is one of the great tragedies of this world!” 

Hercules gave Alex a look that very clearly said,  _ See what I mean?  _

Alex couldn’t help but laugh a little. He was still anxious—constantly sending glances over his shoulder, reluctant to feel safe. He knew that the ones chasing him—if they were still chasing him, and he knew they were, he was  _ sure _ they were—wouldn’t find him here. It was so small, so out of the way, so far from any place he’d ever lived before, and he had a different name on top of that. 

But still. The risk was always there. Ever since Alexander had come to the accidental conclusion that he had magic coursing through his veins, his life had just been one life-threatening peril after another. 

He kept telling himself that he couldn’t relax, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how inexplicably  _ safe _ John and Hercules and Lafayette made him feel. 

“Okay, so we were going to a coffee place, right?” Hercules said. At the others’ nods, he started walking and said, “Well, let’s get going then. Do you drink coffee, Alex?” 

Alex followed the others as they began walking in the apparent direction of the cafe. “Coffee? I live off of it,” he deadpanned in response to Herc’s question. 

There was a church nearby that offered free hot coffee every morning, and with the minimal amount of sleep Alex got, he swore he wouldn’t have made it through a single day at school without the caffeine. 

“I don’t,” Lafayette piped up. “The Washingtons do not allow me to get my hands on coffee. ‘I don’t need the extra energy,’ they say. When I do have caffeine, I become… how do you call me, John?  _ Hurricane Lafayette _ .” 

Alex tensed up for a moment—just a moment—at the word “hurricane,” then brushed it off, laughing nervously. “The Washingtons?” he asked. 

“Oh, yes. Mr. Washington, the American history teacher, is also my father. The Washingtons adopted me when I was eleven,” he clarified. 

“Oh,” Alex said. After a very long hesitation, he asked in a tentative voice, “D-did you… were you ever in the foster system?” 

“Oui, for a very short time,” Lafayette responded. “I do not remember much of it. I know it was frightening, always new situations and never knowing what to expect, but it wasn’t terrible.” 

_ Lucky _ , Alex couldn’t help but think spitefully. 

After his mother died, he’d spent years in the foster system. He tried not to think about it too much, but there was a reason his mind was so screwed up. There was a reason he still had nightmares and panic attacks, a reason for the scars on his back and arms… 

It was partially because of his time in foster care. 

_ That, and the torture.  _

No.  _ No _ . Alex drew in a shuddering breath and clenched his fists. Nonono, he couldn’t think about that, he wasn’t supposed to think about that, the endless pain, the darkness,  _ Thomas _ — 

Alex kept walking, squeezing his eyes shut, nails digging into his palms hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. He could push it away, think about something else, distract himself— 

John. 

John walking beside him. John and his curly, windblown hair and paint-splattered arms. John, whom for some reason Alex trusted, who for some reason made Alex feel safe. 

Without thinking, Alex reached out and grabbed John’s hand. His breathing was slowing now, back to a normal pace. 

“Alex? You okay?” John asked, and Alex quickly nodded and let go. “Your hand is wet—” 

Oh.  _ Shit _ . 

“Alex? Why is there blood on your hand?” 

“I. Uh.” Alex swallowed thickly. He felt John take his wrist back gently, studying the nail marks in his palm. 

“Alex, are you okay?” John repeated, his voice low, the question carrying much more meaning this time. 

“Uh, yeah. It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Alex muttered, snatching his wrist back, fumbling for an excuse that didn’t involve a borderline panic attack, and not finding one. Well, there went his one attempt at making friends. Great. John was going to think he was some kind of freak— 

Well, he  _ was _ some kind of freak, so it’s not like that was unwarranted, but— 

“Is something wrong?” Lafayette asked from where he was walking a few feet ahead of them, pausing and glancing back, concern written all over his face. 

“Nope. Everything’s fine,” Alex said quickly, picking up his pace to catch up with Laf and Herc. “So. Uh. What’s this coffee shop called again?” 

He was desperate for a subject change, hoping John would forget the nail marks in his hands. 

Luckily for him, John seemed to perk up with interest at the mention of the coffee shop’s name. 

“Its name is—don’t laugh—wait, never mind, you can laugh,” Hercules said. “It’s called Espresso Self.” 

Lafayette burst out laughing. 

“Like, you know, express yourself? But with espresso?” John prompted. “Get it?” 

“You Americans and your puns,” Lafayette said, nearly in tears with laughter. 

“Laf. Lafayette, seriously.” John dragged a hand down his face. “You have known this coffee shop for nearly five years.  _ How _ is the name still this funny to you? Most people don’t even laugh that hard the  _ first _ time they hear it.” 

Alex smiled slightly, while Herc just rolled his eyes. 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” John said. “I had a point earlier. Asking if you drink coffee. ‘Cause, since it’s nearing the end of September, obviously there is pumpkin spice everything, right? Including the amazing pumpkin spice lattes at Espresso Self.” 

“Oh my god, John. Here we go again,” Hercules muttered. 

“Listen. Alex.” John’s voice was deadly serious. “These lattes are  _ incredible _ . They’re—they’re magical, or something. Forget Starbucks. If you want a quality pumpkin spice latte, you go to Espresso Self. End of story. And you are definitely 100 percent going to buy a pumpkin spice latte today, because they are  _ heavenly _ .” 

Alex had begun to grin at John’s apparent passion for this drink, but at John’s last sentence, the smile slipped right off his face. He didn’t have money—well, he did, but it was next to nothing and he wasn’t about to waste it on a latte. Now he remembered why his mind had so adamantly warned him not to tag along. 

When you go to a coffee shop, you buy coffee. And if you don’t, you not only look like a weirdo, but you are forced to sit there and smell the  _ delicious _ aromas all around you. Which was not going to help Alex’s hunger pangs. At all. He hadn’t eaten in—how long was it? Almost 24 hours now. He hadn’t eaten anything actually  _ substantial _ in even longer. 

Being homeless, penniless, and on the run from a secret magical criminal organization really, honestly sucked sometimes. 

“I… uh, I actually wasn’t going to get anything.” Alex tried to act as casual and not-homeless as he possibly could. “I left my wallet at home. I figured I’d just, you know, tag along to get to know you guys.” 

“Oh, nonsense,” Lafayette said. “I will buy you your pumpkin spice latte.” 

Alex’s face heated up considerably at that, and his skin prickled with shame. “Laf, you don’t have to—” 

“You are our friend,” Lafayette said firmly. “I know I do not have to. But people give things to their friends,  _ non _ ? Besides, it’s only five bucks.” 

Alex opened his mouth, then closed it, and finally, he nodded. “Okay. Sure,” he muttered. It didn’t sound like Lafayette was pitying him, and if there was one thing he wouldn’t take, it was pity. But it seemed, in this case, that Laf was genuinely just trying to be nice to a friend. 

A  _ friend.  _

Huh. 

He was surprised Lafayette considered him a friend already—and from the way John and Herc were looking at him, they agreed. 

Alex felt a warm feeling spreading in his chest as they continued on their way to the coffee shop. 

Maybe things really  _ were _ going to be different here.

. 

. 

. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!! That was... longer than the others for sure. Over 5000 words, in fact. I'm trying to keep most of them under 4k, to help keep the action evenly spaced, but I've kind of got some close to 6k and some under 3k so haha I'm not doing the best job at that 
> 
> AnYwAy. I love feedback, and I can't wait to see you guys next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thE ANGST BEGINS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goooooood morning!! 
> 
> ahh you guys have been leaving such wonderfully kind comments <3 thank you all so much!! 
> 
> so you know how I said this would be full of angst and pain? 
> 
> yeah 
> 
> haha. ha.

. 

. 

. 

It was incredible, really, how quickly Alex became integrated into their little group. 

They got coffee, and John pestered Alex until he admitted that pumpkin spice lattes from Espresso Self were infinitely superior to all other pumpkin spice lattes. They talked about lots of things, got to know each other a bit, though Alex’s clever and careful aversion to any personal questions did not go unnoticed. They agreed to meet up after school the next day, too, though it would have to be a little later. 

“I have art club tomorrow,” John had said. “They meet twice a week. I’m in the debate club, too, but I only go to one meeting a week because it conflicts with art.” 

“Debate?” Alex had responded. 

“Oh, yeah—you should look into joining the debate club!” John said. “You’d be amazing at it, I bet. Considering you write political essays and all that.” 

In the end, they stayed at the coffee shop for maybe half an hour or so before they decided to head home. Lafayette, John, and Hercules split up to walk in different directions, while Alex said his mom was giving him a ride and stayed to wait for her to pick him up. 

They all left, though somewhat reluctantly, after he promised them that he’d be fine. 

And once he was sure they were out of sight and out of earshot, he darted down the street, slipping behind buildings and alleyways, staying hidden as much as possible. There was a spot under a bridge, cloaked by bushes, where he slept every night. It was close to the school and close to the church that handed out free coffee, which was convenient. 

There was a time when he would have felt bad for lying and keeping secrets from them, especially after they’d call him their friend, but it had become such a necessary part of his life, he’d learned to push away the guilt. He’d learned a long, long time ago. 

He did what he needed to do in order to survive. 

The weather was warm, and though it got a bit chilly at night, Alex was fine curled up under the bridge and wearing his hoodie. 

He had absolutely no idea what he’d do when it got colder. The thought scared him a little—well, okay. It scared him a lot. 

Maybe he’d stay in a homeless shelter. He’d considered the idea, but it wasn’t foolproof. If someone figured out that he was only fifteen years old and without a guardian—and it’s not like it was that hard to tell, what with his pathetically small and skinny frame—he’d be shoved right back into foster care, and god knows he wasn’t reliving that nightmare. 

Alex pushed the issue to the back of his mind. 

He’d figure it out. 

Days passed. Alex tried to blend in with most of the other kids in his classes—well, half of the time, he did. The other half was spent going off on random tangents in class and debating passionately about things that, in all honestly, probably didn’t really warrant such passion. 

He didn’t stand on any more chairs, at the very least. 

John kept talking to him and casually being unfairly cute, not that Alex noticed or anything. They went out with Lafayette and Hercules often, and he found himself becoming slowly closer and closer with the three of them. 

Nothing particularly special happened in the next week. Alex was adjusting, getting used to this new routine. 

And then, out of the blue, Lafayette invited Alex over to his house. 

They were sitting in their math class, just the two of them. Lafayette often spoke French when he was alone with Alex, and right now was no exception. 

“Alexander, John et Hercules viennent chez moi pour terminer nos devoirs ensemble.” 

_ John and Hercules are coming over to my house to complete our homework together _ . 

“Mmm,” Alex responded, not completely listening, hunched over the essay he was working on. (He really wasn’t supposed to be writing an essay during math class. He had a worksheet full of quadratic equations in front of him that he was ignoring, but the teacher didn’t have to know that.) 

“Voulez-vous vous joindre à nous?” 

_ Would you like to join us?  _

Alex froze for a second, not expecting the request. “Me? Come to… your house?” 

“Oui. You could help us out with that essay for English, heaven knows John needs it—oh, is that what you’re working on now?” 

“This? Huh? Oh, no. I finished the English essay two days ago. I’m working on this one for fun.” 

Lafayette paused, processing Alex’s sentence. After a long silence, he finally said, “I’m not even going to broach the topic of you working on an essay ‘for fun’, because that is beyond my understanding. But, Alexander.  _ How on earth _ did you finish the English essay two days ago when it was  _ assigned only yesterday? _ ” 

Alex only winked. “Not telling.” 

“Alexander!” 

He grinned. “It’s magic.” 

The word slipped out without thinking, and quite a lot happened in the split second that followed. Lafayette and Alex both tensed up. Lafayette processed that Alex had been joking and tried to relax. Alex was panicking, going through his mind and wondering how that had slipped out, trying to lock the word firmly away so he’d never use it again. 

His magic was such a terrifying, lonely secret, he couldn’t even joke about it without freaking out. 

(In actuality, he’d caught a glimpse of Mr. Burgoyne’s lesson plans and decided to write ahead. A very normal, non-magical explanation.) 

Swallowing thickly, Alex mustered a grin and winked again. Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I will never understand you, mon ami. Really, though, will you come?” 

Alex hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded in agreement, if a bit reluctantly. 

“Sure.” 

. 

. 

. 

The Washingtons’ house was really nice. As in, really, really,  _ really _ nice. The kind of expensive, lavish nice that made Alex feel extraordinarily cheap in comparison. 

_ This house is probably worth, like, 200 of me _ , he found himself thinking absently as Lafayette led him up the brick front porch steps, because  _ damn _ . The house had a wraparound porch, with classic Roman-style Corinthian columns. The door was made of a deep, rich mahogany, with beautiful patterned glass windows on each side. It wasn’t necessarily the biggest house on the block, but Alex was already very impressed—and as of yet he’d only seen the exterior. 

John and Herc didn’t appear fazed by the extravagance of it all, which seemed absurd to Alex—but then again,  _ they _ weren’t homeless kids who’d had to work for every scrap of food they’d ever gotten their hands on over the course of their miserable lives, so perhaps it made sense that their perspectives were slightly different from Alex’s. 

“WE’RE HOME!” Lafayette shouted as he twisted the doorknob and stepped over the threshold. 

“Hey! Laf!” a voice shouted. 

A face appeared from around a corner, and a girl with brown curls framing her face came skidding into view. “Hey, you brought friends!” she said. “John, and Herc, and—ooh, who’re you?” 

“Peggy, this is Alex,” Lafayette introduced. “Alex, this is my sister, Peggy. She’s a freshman.” 

Peggy’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re Alex? Cool!” Without warning, she whirled around, cupped her hands to her mouth, and shouted, “LAF BROUGHT THE NEW KID!” 

Lafayette winced. “Peggy, there’s really no need to shout at the top of your lungs…” 

Peggy blinked innocently. “But Laf, that  _ wasn’t _ even the top of my lungs! I can be much louder.” She smirked. 

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hercules said faintly, and even as he spoke, Alex could hear footsteps thudding down the stairs. How many people lived in this house…? 

“Come in, come in,” Lafayette was saying, and Alex followed the others into the house, trying not to gape. 

“Lafayette, have you seen my—oh, it’s you!” A girl with long, shiny dark brown hair walked down the stairs, and it took a split second for Alex to recognize that it was the girl from his AP US History class. “You’re Alexander, right? I’m Eliza. It’s nice to meet you. Laf’s told us all about you.” 

“Oh. Uh. Nice to meet you, too,” Alex said, blinking in surprise. Laf had told them all about him? 

“Hey, Angelica!” Eliza called as a taller,  _ very _ familiar girl followed her down the stairs. 

_ Angelica?  _

Alex’s eyes widened as he recognized the name, and an instant later, the face of the girl he’d run into in the hallway just a week ago. From the looks of it, she also recognized him. 

“Oh, so it  _ is _ you, after all,” Angelica said, a rather cryptic greeting that confused Alex to no end. “Nice to see you again, Alexander Hamilton. I’m guessing that  _ is _ your name, despite the fact that you rushed off in too much of a hurry to tell me last time we met?” Her words might’ve sounded unkind if they hadn’t been delivered in such a gently teasing tone. 

“Uh. Yeah. Alexander Hamilton… that’s me,” Alex said. “You’re Angelica Schuyler, right?” 

“That’s right,” she said, smiling now and leaning on the banister. “Welcome to our insane house. It looks like you’ve already met Peggy and Eliza, so that’s everyone except for our parents—and I suppose you’ve already met Dad, too. He’s your APUSH teacher, right?” 

Alex nodded, then turned to Lafayette. “You didn’t tell me you had sisters,” he said. 

Laf shrugged. “Oops?” 

“Hey, Laf, d’you got food?” John called from the kitchen. “Ooh, hey, there’s leftover pizza in here! Can I have some?” 

“Oui, go ahead,” Laf called back. 

“Pizza?” Hercules perked up and headed into the kitchen. 

“Wait.” Alex held up a hand. “I’m—hold on. Lafayette, your last name is, well, Lafayette. And your sisters—they’re the Schuylers, right? But your parents are the Washingtons.” Alex frowned. 

“I decided to keep my surname when the Washingtons adopted me,” Lafayette explained. “Mes soeurs did the same.” 

Alex nodded. “Okay. I see.” He was still trying to process the boatload of new information that had been dumped upon him. The house was a whirlwind of activity, and that coupled with the unfamiliarity of the situation was a little overwhelming. 

Then the front door opened again, and in walked Mr. Washington in all of his glory. All six-foot-two-inches of him stepped into the house, frowning at a stack of papers in his hand. 

He glanced up and caught sight of Alexander, and his expression lit up with recognition. “Ah! Alexander Hamilton,” he said with a smile. “I had a feeling I’d find you here. It’s good to see you, my boy. Afternoon, Gilbert, Angelica, Eliza, Peggy… good day today?” 

“Oui! A very good day! Alex, John, and Herc are here so we can work on our essays for English class,” Laf explained. 

“Sounds wonderful. You boys let me know if you need anything,” George said. “Gilbert, girls, your mother will be home soon. I’m going to be in my room, but I’ll be down soon, okay?” 

They voiced their assent, and with that, he turned and headed up the stairs. 

“Gilbert?” Alex questioned quietly. 

“One of my names. Maman et papa are the only ones who call me that,” Lafayette elaborated, looking a bit embarrassed. 

Before long, the four boys were gathered in Lafayette’s room, working on their respective essays. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as Alex had anticipated it being. He didn’t feel unwanted, didn’t feel as though he was intruding. Instead, being here just felt… natural. They chattered aimlessly as they proofread and edited one another’s work. 

“Alex, can you help me out with this sentence? I’m pretty sure that comma is not doing what it’s supposed to.” 

“Sure, Herc… oh. Wow. Yeah, that comma’s having issues.” 

The conversation was casual, happy, easygoing, and Alex found himself becoming almost comfortable working with the three other boys. He hadn’t expected it all to go this well. 

And then. 

_ And then _ . 

“Hey, Laf, have you heard anything about Thomas?” 

And suddenly Alex was back there, because of  _ that name _ . 

It came on rather suddenly—the world got a little fuzzy, and the pen in Alex’s hand dropped to the ground as the lines that distinguished his reality began to blur. 

He was back. Back in the darkness. 

Alex squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists as a wave of overwhelming terror flooded him. No, no, no… 

The pain that never seemed to end. The  _ screaming _ —was it someone else’s or his own? It hurt—oh god it  _ hurt _ , somebody  _ please _ —

“Alex?” 

The darkness was closing in on him, he could  _ feel _ it pressing in. He was going to die, he was dying,  _ he wanted to die _ , oh god please make it  _ stop hurting _ — 

Alex tried to hold back a scream. 

John, meanwhile, was completely freaking out. 

One second Alex was acting completely normal—sure, he was a little nervous, a little less comfortable joining in the conversation, but that could be chalked up to typical social anxiety and the fact that he was in Laf’s house for the first time. But then John turned around and Alex was suddenly freaking out, eyes glassy, trembling almost violently. 

And that was decidedly  _ not _ normal. 

“Alex? Alex, hey, you okay?” Obviously Alex was not okay in the slightest, but John still asked, reaching out a hand to hesitantly touch Alex’s arm. 

The instant he made contact, Alexander jumped back and let out a terrified whimper. 

John sucked in a sharp breath and backed away, feeling the color drain from his face. “Alex?” he said. The boy in front of him was absolutely paralyzed with fear, and it took John a split second to realize that Alexander was not there. His body was, yes. But his mind was somewhere else, somewhere far away. 

He recognized what was going on in the same instant that Lafayette did. 

“He’s having a flashback,” they whispered at the same time. 

In an instant, John sharply recalled the times he’d calmed Lafayette down and helped him through situations exactly like these. He knew immediately what he had to do. Lafayette seemed a little uncertain, clearly recalling the times he’d had PTSD attacks of his own. Hercules had witnessed a few of Laf’s flashbacks, but he still seemed at a loss for what to do, and that left only John to take charge of the situation. 

“Mulligan, go get George, and Martha if she’s home. They’ll know what to do. Laf, go get a bottle of water and something soft—a blanket or whatever.” With that, John scooted closer to Alex as Lafayette and Hercules hurried out of the room. 

“Alexander,” he said softly. “Alexander, listen to me. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” 

“It hurts,” he whimpered. “It hurts, it  _ hurts _ , make it stop, please…” 

“Alex, you’re safe. You’re in Laf’s room. We’re working on homework together. You know your English essay for Mr. Burgoyne? We’re working on that,” John said, keeping his voice calm and gentle. 

“ _ Thomas _ ,” Alex choked out, and John frowned. Lafayette had mentioned Thomas in their conversation. Had that been the reason why…? 

John pushed thoughts of the trigger to the back of his mind. He could worry about that in a few minutes. “You’re safe. You’re in Laf’s room. I’m here. You’re safe,” John repeated. 

Alex whimpered again. 

“Can I touch you?” John said quietly. 

There was a long pause, and then Alex nodded hesitantly. Slowly, John reached out and took Alexander’s hand in his own. He ran his thumb over Alex’s knuckles. “You’re safe,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, not here, not now. I’m here. You’re in Lafayette’s room now. You’re safe.” 

He kept repeating that, over and over and over,  _ you’re safe you’re safe you’re safe _ . Lafayette came back with the water and a small fleece blanket. He passed them to John, who in turn unscrewed the cap and offered the bottle to Alex. 

“Here,” he said. “Drink this, Alex.” 

He shook his head adamantly. 

“Drink it. It will help,” John said, careful to keep his voice steady and soft. 

Another shake of the head, though this one was less insistent, a little more hesitant. Deciding to abandon the effort in fear of upsetting Alex further, John set the water bottle down and instead pressed the blanket into Alex’s hands. The boy clutched it like a lifeline, and another choked sob escaped his mouth. 

“What are you holding, Alex?” 

“I…  _ Thomas _ …” 

“Tell me what’s in your hand.” 

“I—I—” 

“It’s okay, Alex. Tell me.” 

A long pause. A shuddering intake of breath. “B-blanket.” 

“How does it feel?” 

“It- hurts- stop—” 

“How does the blanket feel?” 

“I… I don’t… it’s soft?” 

John continued to run his fingers over Alex’s knuckles. “Good. What color are my eyes?” 

Alex stared at him, still wearing that glassy expression. “B… brown. No—hazel?” 

“Hazel. That’s right, Alex. How many freckles do I have?” 

His breathing was becoming less erratic, less panicked. Steadier. “Too many.” 

John laughed at that, and after a second, so did Alex, feeble though it was. 

At that moment, Hercules burst into the room, followed closely by Washington. Alex flinched slightly at the sudden movement, and John gave his hand a light squeeze. After a second, Alex squeezed back. 

“What happened?” Washington said, his voice deadly serious. 

“We were just talking, and suddenly Alex started panicking. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that it was a PTSD flashback,” John said. “I think I know what triggered it, but it’s probably not a good idea to bring it up again.” 

“Right.” Washington nodded. “Has he calmed down? Is he okay now?” 

They all knew that the term “okay” was relative, and that considering the fact that Alex had just had a flashback to something horrific, no, he was probably not okay. But John nodded anyway. 

“I think so. I gave him water and something to hold. He’s mostly fine now, I think.” 

“M’fine,” Alex muttered, and John took it as a good sign that he was aware enough to respond to the conversation. 

Washington knelt down beside Alex. “Son—” 

Alex flinched. “Not your son,” he mumbled, hands tightening into fists. 

“Right. I’m sorry. Alex, can you tell me where you are?” 

Alex looked up at Washington, meeting his gaze for the first time. His eyes were clouded with confusion and a heartbreaking mix of pain and exhaustion that no fifteen-year-old boy should ever have to experience. 

“Can you tell me where you are?” Washington repeated softly. 

“S’dark,” Alex muttered. 

“You’re in Lafayette’s room. The lights are on. It isn’t dark.” 

“John said—” John squeezed Alex’s hand, and Alex gripped back so tightly his knuckles turned white. “John said that. Said I’m safe.” 

“You are, Alex. You’re safe. You’re not in that place anymore.” Washinton’s voice had a strange melancholy to it, and John knew that they were both thinking the same thing:  _ what the hell happened to this kid? _

“You’re here. With us, in the Washingtons’ house.” 

Alex nodded, and after a long moment in which Herc and Laf looked on anxiously and John merely sat there running his thumb over Alex’s knuckles, he mumbled something unintelligible. 

“What’d you say, Alex?” John said. 

“Tired,” Alex repeated bluntly. “But better now. I… sorry. Can we get back to working on that essay?” 

As he spoke, his voice became more and more normal, reverting back to sound like the Alex they had all come to know. 

“Alex…” John started, but Alex cut him off. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you guys trouble. I can leave if you want.” 

“No, no, Alex… you don’t have to leave. This isn’t your fault,” Washington said, and Alex flinched away from his voice, making everyone in the room tense slightly. 

“Okay,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Can we… can we just get back to that essay?” His voice was pleading, and Washington relented. 

John mouthed the words  _ don’t mention Thomas again _ to Lafayette and Hercules, and they nodded.

“Okay, so, back to this essay!” John announced as Washington slowly stood up to leave the room. “Alex. Alex, please. I need you to proofread this one more time and explain how I misused all of my semicolons, because I definitely misused all of my semicolons. Grammar is physically painful. Help.” 

Alex grinned. It looked a little forced, but honestly, John would take anything over the expression of pain and terror and exhaustion he’d worn earlier. 

“Okay,” Alex said, reaching out to take the paper from John. 

And if their hands happened to make contact for just a split second longer than was necessary, well, no one had to know, and neither said a word. 

. 

. 

. 

Late that night after he’d left their house, for the first time in over a week, Alexander used his magic. 

There was no one on the road, no one around to see him. He was huddled behind the bushes under the bridge, holding up his hands and staring into his palms. 

He’d trained himself to an extent when it came to wielding his powers, but if he ever needed to use it again in order to survive—he hoped like hell it wouldn’t come to that, but, well, it probably would—he could certainly use a bit more practice. 

After all, if Alex had learned anything since his mother died, it was that any moment of safety he was granted was sure to be fleeting, at best. 

But Alex wasn’t just doing this to practice. He honestly didn’t think he could make it much longer without using it. There was a deep ache inside of him, some part of him that couldn’t rest, always bursting with energy, a powder keg about to explode. He  _ needed _ to let it out, to express it. 

And so, taking a deep, steadying breath, he let it go. 

The surge of adrenaline was familiar but no less startling. In an instant, light was pooling in his hands, shining like the sun in his grasp. Throwing his head back, Alex thrust his hands up to the sky, and from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers began a wild dance with no rhyme or reason. 

The light dripped from his fingers and shimmered as it moved, becoming little stars that leaped and twirled through the night air. The lights grew brighter and brighter until the world around them seemed pitch black by contrast. 

Alex sucked in a sharp breath, then froze, arms locked above him, fingers splayed out. The lights froze as well, and Alex’s arms began to tremble with effort as they grew steadily brighter and brighter. He was harnessing the light of the sun in all its glory, and it was  _ incredible _ . 

Then all of a sudden the light was gone, and Alex sat back, panting, his eyes blinking rapidly as they readjusted to the darkness. 

His forehead was damp with sweat. If anything, using his magic was definitely draining. 

Alex sat there for a moment longer before finally, slowly, he lowered himself to the ground until he was lying down. He stared up at the bridge, wishing he could see the stars but unwilling to expose himself. 

Now sufficiently exhausted, Alex curled up and slept soundly, dreamlessly, for the first time in what felt like weeks. 

. 

. 

. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I KNOW YOU GUYS WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT ALEX'S MAGIC 
> 
> THERE YOU GO WHEEEEEEE 
> 
> ALSO I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL WHATSOEVER FOR HURTING ALEX, SHOUT AT ME IF YOU WANT IT'S ONLY GONNA GET WORSE 
> 
> I LOVE FEEDBACK BYYYE SEE YOU NEXT TUESDAY


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh no, it's the Angst, it's Back 
> 
> also MAGICCCCCC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK I'M BAAAAACK IT'S TUESDAY AND I'M BACK YAY 
> 
> I get way too excited for Tuesdays now 
> 
> anYwAy!!! here u go fam, enjoy, please don't come after me because really y'all have been whining about angst but if you REALLY wanna come after me, save it for like. chapters fifteen-through-twenty-ish. 
> 
> trust me.

“Hey, my man G-Wash!”

Alex groaned and put his face in his hands as John winked and finger-gunned Washington the next day at school. The two boys always walked from English class to American history together, and today was no exception.

“John,” Washington responded with a tone of thinly veiled exasperation, “how many times have I told you to call me Mr. Washington while we are in school?”

“Many, many times, G-Wash,” John responded solemnly.

“John.” Washington’s voice took on a warning tone.

“Right, right, sorry, sir,” John conceded, ducking his head. Alexander glanced up with a half-grin as he set his books on his desk.

Lafayette and Hercules also had this class with them, along with Eliza. After the episode he’d had at the Washingtons’ house, Alex was having trouble facing all of them properly, especially Mr. Washington. He was ashamed of it, in all honesty, and afraid. Afraid, because an ordinary high-school kid didn’t have PTSD flashbacks in the middle of a conversation. Afraid, because now they all knew there was something wrong with him, that _something_ _awful_ had to have happened to him.

Afraid, because that particular _something awful_ had absolutely everything to do with his magic.

He wished it was easier to avoid the flashbacks, but there wasn’t much he could do about his triggers. He usually didn’t slip into one so easily- at least, not so far in his experience, though he’d only been having them for less than two months at this point, so he didn’t have much to go off of.

He’d done a little bit of research on post-traumatic stress disorder, and it seemed manageable. For the most part. Sort of. Therapy was supposed to help with it, but considering the fact that 1. therapists cost money and 2. therapy entailed talking about his issues, which was unfortunately not an option if he wanted to, oh I don’t know, _live_ another month or so, it was kind of out of the question.

Alex pushed the flashback out of his mind. It had been pretty terrifying, but he couldn’t think about it or try to process it right now—not when the possibility of slipping into another (and in the middle of class, no less) loomed so large.

Class dragged on, with Alex glancing at the clock every few minutes. On a typical day, he loved this class. Washington was an incredible teacher, and the material was intriguing enough to keep Alex engaged (not to mention the many, _many_ essays it had already inspired).

But after his episode, Washington had begun to act… _different_ around him. Lafayette and Hercules had as well. The only one who hadn’t been noticeably different around him was John.

They’d been acting almost as though they were suspicious of something, and honestly, it was starting to freak Alex out just a little bit.

Because if they found out about his magic?

Truthfully, Alex couldn’t bring himself to even imagine the consequences that it would bring.

He felt his eyelids drooping slightly as he continued to stare at the clock. He suppressed a yawn, reminding himself that _he was not tired_ , he wasn’t _allowed_ to be tired, he had an entire day of classes left to get through…

And then _that name_ jolted him out of his thoughts.

John and his friends—minus Alex—were still speaking in hushed whispers, and Alex caught a piece of their conversation that he wished he hadn’t. Once something like this was on his mind, there was no way he could concentrate properly.

“Yo, G-Wash said we were getting a new student, right?”

“It’s Thomas. Gotta be.”

Alex started slightly, and his grip on his pencil tightened. _Why_ did they have to have a friend named Thomas? It made his heart jump to even just hear the name, even though he _knew_ that they weren’t talking about the Thomas he was thinking of. They couldn’t be, because the Thomas he knew—

The Thomas he knew was dead.

Meanwhile, the others continued to whisper.

“Uh, but guys. Thomas isn’t a new student…?”

“He’s probably just transferring to this class because they realized he was too smart for the honors class and wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“That’s fair. Honestly, that’s probably exactly what happened. He doesn’t shut up about anything, _ever_.”

“We’ve barely known him for a month. How is it that you all already despise him so much?”

“Because he’s a jerk?”

“He is not!”

“Laf, just because you knew him when you were kids doesn’t mean he isn’t a jerk. You can’t seriously be that biased in his favor.”

“He isn’t that bad…”

Alex managed to steady his breathing. He wasn’t completely calmed down, but he wasn’t completely freaked out, either. If he pushed the thoughts out of his mind, he’d be fine…

The world seemed to get a little fuzzy at the corners as he tried to focus on the worksheet in front of him. He tried to block out their conversation, hoping to god he wouldn’t have a flashback. If there really was a new kid named Thomas transferring to this class, Alex was seriously going to have to get over this trigger.

A big, black cloud still hovered at the back of his mind for the rest of the day, and exhaustion from a lack of sleep and not enough caffeine continued to pull at him, but he managed to make it until lunch hour.

It was then that everything went to hell.

He didn’t plan to fall asleep. Anxious for a moment alone, he headed into the bathroom, stepped into one of the stalls, locked it, and just kind of slid down against the door. Maybe he could just rest his eyes, just for a moment.

Yeah. Just a moment.

That would be fine.

_“Alex? Alex!”_

_Alex groaned as the cell door swung open with a loud creak and he was thrown in. His head thunked against the floor, his skin scraping painfully on the cement. He wanted to get up, to turn and give each of his captors a solid punch in the jaw, but he could barely bring himself to move._

_Everything just_ hurt _so much._

_“Alex! Are you okay? Alex, man, get up, come on—” The voice was still calling for him, though it sounded kind of far away, as though he was underwater. He heard the cell door slam shut behind him._

_“M’fine,” he managed to mumble in response. A pair of hands gingerly grasped him and turned him over. Alex blinked in the dim light that came from the hallway, his vision swimming out of focus._

_“Alex,” the voice said, and the part of Alex’s brain that was still functioning properly connected the voice to the face that hovered above him._

_“Thomas,” he said, reaching up to clutch the boy’s hand._

_“They didn’t hurt you too bad, did they?”_

_“Nah. Just the usual.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. Anything that left Alex this badly incapacitated was easily worse than the “usual”._

_And the usual was bad enough as it was._

_“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Having confirmed that Alex was at least able enough to speak, Thomas’ voice quickly reverted back to its usual condescending tone._

_Alex scowled, trying and failing to sit up. “Am not.”_

_“If you kept your mouth shut more often, they wouldn’t do this to you.”_

_“Um, yes, actually, they still fucking would.”_

_“Well, yeah, but not as often. Sometimes they do it just for_ fun _”—Thomas’ voice took on a tone of disgust—“and you only make them more likely to do that when you taunt them.”_

 _“I’m not just gonna lie down and_ **take it** _, Thomas!”_

 _“When you insult the guards like that, you_ know _it gets worse, damn it—”_

_“Oh, please. I have a higher IQ than all of them combined. They can’t even understand what I’m saying half the time.”_

_“Alex. Oh my god. That. Makes. It._ **Worse** _. For a self-proclaimed genius, you sure have a hard fucking time understanding something so simple—”_

 _“I_ do _understand it, I just don’t_ **care** ! _They can do whatever they want to me, I can take it!”_

 _“That’s the_ point _, Alex! The point is that they_ can _do whatever they want—they could kill you, and yet you seem to have no qualms about antagonizing them.” Thomas sounded partly angry and partly just exasperated. “Where is your sense of self-preservation?”_

_Their argument was interrupted by the loud, sharp sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway. Both boys froze as a silhouetted figure appeared outside the cell._

_The man slammed something loudly against the bars, causing both Alex and Thomas to wince. Alex’s hand tightened around Thomas’. “Shut_ **_up_ ** _, you freakish little brats, or I’ll come in there and make you.”_

_The words were out before Alex even had a chance to think about what he was saying. “I’d like to see you try,” he snapped._

_“Alex,” Thomas hissed in his ear, a warning, but Alex ignored him._

_The man’s voice lowered dangerously when he spoke again, sending a chill up Alex’s spine. “That’s a good idea, son. Maybe I will.” Alex’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the distinct_ **click** _of the door being unlocked, but he forced himself to keep his resolve._

 _“Do whatever you want to me, I can take it,” Alex said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, and ignoring Thomas’ incredulous stare. “And_ **_don’t_ ** _call me son.”_

 _“Oh, I know full well that_ **you** _can take it,” the man said. “In fact, you seem altogether too willing to bring pain upon yourself, and it’s making my task a bit difficult. It’s hard for us to get what we want out of you. Your friend, on the other hand…”_

_Quick as a flash, the man had Thomas pinned to the wall, and Alex was helpless to stop what happened next. He could only look on in utter horror._

_“It seems he’s a bit less pain-tolerant than you are. I wonder, how long will he have to scream before you learn to listen,_ son? _” He put extra emphasis on that last word, and Alex was too terrified to fire back with any sort of witty retort._

_In just a moment, the entire situation had been flipped on its head._

_“No,” he whispered, his demeanor having changed in an instant. “Oh, god, no, please. Don’t.” He could take pain, but couldn’t take this. He couldn’t let Thomas get hurt because of him._

_“Nice job, Alex,” Thomas muttered, and on the surface he sounded merely annoyed, but Alex could hear the underlying fear in his voice._

_“I’m sorry,” Alex choked out, his voice frantic, hinging on desperate. “God, please, don’t hurt him, I’m sorry,_ please _.”_

_“This’ll teach you both to shut up,” the man snarled, pulling out a very familiar device and snapping it around Thomas’ neck. A shock collar._

_Thomas closed his eyes, taking in a shaky breath. That moment felt like it lasted for an eternity as a horrible dread built up in Alex’s stomach._

_And once the screaming started, it never seemed to end._

**“NO!”**

Alex awoke with a start, the sound of the scream he’d just let out reverberating off of the bathroom walls.

 _Shit_.

His heart was pounding painfully in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. He felt his hands resting on the cool tile of the bathroom floor. He was here. He was at school. He wasn’t in there, in that place, the darkness, the pain, the _screaming…_

_I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay calm down Alex you’re okay, calm down, breathe, Alex, breathe…_

His mind was filled with the sound of Thomas screaming. That had only been a few months ago. Just a few months ago, he’d still been stuck in that horrible place, completely at their mercy.

Just a few months ago, Thomas had been alive.

Alex curled up, hugging his knees to his chest and hoping no one had heard his scream. He couldn’t deal with people. Not today. Not right now.

He dropped his head into his arms, his shoulders beginning to shake as he tried to hold back tears.

.

.

.

“John? Everything okay?”

“Hm?” John glanced over at Eliza. She was so perceptive, as always. “Oh, yeah… I’m fine. Alex just seemed really quiet today.”

They were walking to lunch with Lafayette and Hercules, just chatting casually. It had been a relatively normal day, for the most part, though Alex had kept to himself a lot more than he usually did.

“I’m not surprised,” Lafayette put in. “After last night…”

John nodded. “I want to help him, but he just seems so scared and closed off, y’know? I don’t think he’s going to want our help.”

Eliza nodded and opened her mouth as though she were going to say something, but the conversation was cut off when they heard a scream coming from the bathroom that they were walking by.

_“NO!”_

John froze.

“That’s Alex,” he and Lafayette said at the exact same time, and they sprinted for the boys’ bathroom, Hercules pausing for a moment to tell Eliza to wait for them before following.

As he ran into the bathroom, John felt his magic coursing through his veins of its own accord. He felt the power at the tips of his fingers, seconds from letting itself out. “Alex!” he said, but when he took in the space around him, Alex was nowhere to be found.

There was a shuffling noise, and the distinct sound of the lock sliding open. Alex stepped out for a moment, tear-tracks staining his face. John felt the magic in his fingertips recede.

“Hey,” Alex said shakily, trying and failing to muster a smile. John rushed forward, about to hug him, but he stopped himself, realizing that a hug might not be the best idea right now.

“Dude, are you okay?” John said. “What _was_ that?”

Alex shrugged, looking away. “It’s—it was nothing. Fell asleep. Had a nightmare. N-no big deal.”

“You fell asleep in the bathroom,” Hercules repeated in a deadpan voice.

“Yeah. Your point?” Alex said, his voice clipped now, irritated. “Like I said, not a big deal, guys. Let’s just—can we go to lunch or something?”

“Alex, that _is_ a big deal,” Lafayette riposted. “We are your friends, remember? We want to make sure you’re okay.”

 _“I am okay!_ ” Alex snapped, and the sudden harshness of his tone made John’s next words die in his throat.

After a silence that stretched on long enough to become uncomfortable, they finally, awkwardly, walked out of the bathroom, dropping the subject. Alex followed behind them with a dark look on his face. They met up with Eliza and told her everything was fine (Alex mumbled something about seeing a mouse, which she definitely didn’t believe at all whatsoever) and then the group of five made their way to lunch.

They didn’t bring up the topic again.

.

.

.

That afternoon, John and Hercules headed over to Lafayette’s house to do something they hadn’t done in what felt like forever.

“It’s been ages since we’ve practiced our magic together,” Herc had said to them while they were conversing in low tones just after lunch. “We should get together soon and do it.”

“Why not today?” Lafayette had responded with a shrug. “I’m not busy.”

“Neither am I,” John put in, and Hercules nodded.

“Okay,” he’d said. “Can we just come over after school?”

“Oui,” Lafayette responded. “You know you don’t need to ask, right? Mon pere will not mind—you two may as well be family.”

John and Herc exchanged grins at that. It was true, after all.

And so that afternoon, as they gathered in Lafayette’s backyard along with the Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy, everything was entirely familiar. It was just natural, working together like this.

The environment was pretty casual, as they practiced little tricks with their magic, sparred on and off, or just relaxed on the back porch swing. The day was sunny and bright and cold, with just enough of a breeze blowing to give them all goosebumps.

“You ready for this, Laurens?” Herc said to John with a smirk, rolling the sleeves of his tee shirt up over his shoulders.

“Oh, you better believe it, Mulligan,” John replied, cracking his knuckles. He could feel a tight ball of energy inside of him, dying to be released.

The two boys stepped forward in unison, and in an instant, they were a whirlwind of motion.

It had rained the night before, and the ground was soaked, which was lucky for John. He lifted his arms, letting the energy soar out of him, and in the very next second, the water was bending to his every whim.

John’s magic was elemental, and in his case, that meant that he had the ability to manipulate water.

(That was _exactly_ as awesome as it sounded.)

With a flick of his wrist, he sent a stream of water slicing through the air at incredible speed, but Hercules was light on his feet. With an element of grace that came from years of dance classes, he darted out of the way, and when he lifted his hands to go on the offensive, they were cloaked in flames.

Hercules’ magic was also elemental, and his particular element—fire—made him a perfect match for John when they sparred. Flames curled around his wrists and hands, tongues of bright orange and burning gold crackling and licking at his skin as he threw punch after punch. John met each with a jet of water or dodged them entirely, successfully defending himself.

Changing tactics, Hercules sent a pillar of flames barreling straight for John, who managed to dodge by barely a hair’s breadth. The wave of heat nearly made his skin blister.

“Hercules, mon cher, where is your aim? Hit him!” Lafayette crowed from where he was watching on the porch swing.

“C’mon, John, get on the offensive!” Peggy urged.

Gritting his teeth, John lifted his arms and curled his fingers in, focusing on what he wanted the water to do. In an instant, a fierce wave slammed into Hercules’ feet, startling him and tripping him up so that he fell face-first into the muddy ground. Taking advantage of the moment, John drew his arm back, lifting a dagger made of water and bringing it down hard and fast on Herc’s back.

It wasn’t enough to actually wound him, but the sheer force of the blow stunned Hercules for a moment. With a groan, he rolled away and pushed himself to his feet before sending another blast of fire at John.

The curly-haired boy didn’t manage to completely dodge, and the flames caught him in the right shoulder, burning away his shirtsleeve and causing him to cry out in pain. John responded with a series of tiny, rapid-fire jets of water, several of which sliced through Herc’s clothes and left him with cuts up and down his body.

Herc was about to retaliate when Peggy cheerfully called, “Time!”

Now thoroughly exhausted, John dropped to his knees, panting, and Herc’s flames dissipated. Eliza rushed forward, hands full of small labeled glass bottles. She selected one from the many and immediately began applying its contents to John’s burn.

There was an unspoken rule among all of them: that when they sparred, they held back. Hercules’ flames could have done a lot more damage if he’d been at his full power, as could John’s jets of water, but they never had any intent to actually harm each other.

Besides that, part of the benefit of having magic coursing through their veins was a natural resistance to physical damage: their bodies could take a hell of a lot more than most people could. John’s burn wasn’t that bad—with Martha’s magic salve that Eliza was applying, it should be almost fully healed by the next morning—but on a regular person, it would have been a lot more damaging.

Once Eliza was finished with both John and Hercules, she quickly and carefully put the glass bottles back on the table.

“That was fun,” John said, grinning up at Hercules as the taller boy reached down a hand to help him up. Gratefully, John took it, pulling himself to his feet.

“Damn right it was fun,” Herc agreed. “We seriously need to do this more often.”

The afternoon passed pretty quickly after that, with all of them continuing to practice their magic. Lafayette’s was one of the most incredible to watch. John couldn’t help but be awed as he watched Laf’s beautifully bewitching song and dance, watched the wildflowers in the yard respond, growing and blooming in brilliant, supernatural colors.

Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy all practiced together for the most part, given the similarity of their magic. Watching them was almost headache-inducing, to be honest; they had something called charm magic, which enabled them to do a wide variety of things, most notably creating illusions.

John, meanwhile, busied himself with making little shapes out of water—stars, hearts, letters, stuff like that—and then dumping them on people. He was unanimously voted the most annoying member of the group by the end of the night, though Peggy’s incessant pranking put her at a close second. At one point, she created the illusion of a bird dive-bombing Lafayette _that only Laf could see_ , and Hercules had immortalized in video the several seconds of incoherent screeching as Laf frantically dodged… nothing at all.

All in all, it was a good day.

Which was why it made no sense at all that John couldn’t stop feeling a sense of building dread in his stomach, as though their lives weren’t going to stay this carefree for much longer.

.

.

.

“James?”

“Hm?”

The tall boy sitting on the bedroom floor turned and glanced at his friend, who was seated on the bed. They were doing their homework together. As always.

“If I… told you something crazy,” he said slowly, “like, something so crazy it sounds impossible—if I told you something like that, do you think you’d believe me?”

James stared back at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, yet somehow meaningful, and it sent shivers down the taller boy’s spine.

“Well,” he said softly, “I don’t think you’d lie. Not to me.”

The taller boy bit his lip. Nodded slowly.

James slid off the bed to sit beside the other boy. His voice was low as he said, “You’re my _best friend_ , Thomas. I care about you. You know that, right?”

Thomas looked away. “...Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah. Same to you, Jemmy,” he said, even as one hand drifted up to touch the scar that wrapped around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yOU GUYS PROBABLY ALL WANT ANSWERS 
> 
> T O O 
> 
> B A D 
> 
> _HA_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with Disney movies, English class, xenophobia and tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUESS WHO FORGOT THAT IT IS TUESDAY 
> 
> ahaha. ha. haaaa. 
> 
> SO HERE'S CHAPTER SIX... also, I've realized that I haven't been putting trigger warnings for individual chapters?? whoops. I'm going to go back and do that later today. as for this chapter: 
> 
> **trigger warning for some pretty harsh xenophobia**

. 

. 

. 

That Friday, they headed over to Laf’s house again, but not for homework. It was the third Friday of October, and Lafayette had long ago declared the third Friday of every m onth to be their designated movie night. And so, twelve nights out of every year, they gathered around the Washingtons’ living room—the sofa wasn’t quite big enough for Lafayette, Angelica, Eliza, Peggy, George, Martha, John,  _ and _ Hercules, but they made do with piles of pillows and blankets and sleeping bags—and marathoned movies until everyone fell asleep (usually somewhere between three and six in the morning). 

Not just any movies--Disney movies, to be perfectly precise. 

And it was  _ awesome _ . 

Tonight, however, was going to be even better than any of the others had been, because Angelica had made the executive decision to invite Alex over for movie night, and, well, once Angelica decided… the end. No questions asked. Not that anyone really had reason to argue. 

“He needs this,” Angelica had said bluntly. “And he’s your friend, right? So why not?” 

John, Laf, and Herc hadn’t needed any convincing, and on Friday morning as John walked to school, he found himself anxiously hoping that Alex would say yes. He didn’t know why he’d taken such a liking to Alex so quickly—well, Laf had his theories, but Laf was welcome to  _ mind his own business _ —but, well, he had. 

_ Think straight thoughts, Laurens _ , he admonished himself, then winced when he realized what he was thinking. That was his father’s voice talking. 

“Hey, Alex,” John said as he walked into English, and, upon noticing that the other boy was frantically flipping through his notebook, added cheekily, “Got that essay done? How many pages over the limit is it this time?” 

Alex’s head snapped up and his face suddenly blanched, a few stray hairs falling into his face. “Essay?” he said. “We—that essay was due  _ today _ ? But I—I left it at—ohmygodJohn—” 

“Whoa, Alex, no, I was just joking,” John said, holding up his hands. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s due today, as far as I know.” He paused, stepping slightly closer and reaching out to touch Alex’s hand. “You okay? Got a lot on your mind?” 

Alex paused, but he didn’t pull his hand away instantly; instead, he let his hand linger for just a moment longer. “Uh… yeah. Speaking of that. I’m, uh, I’ve been looking for a job,” he muttered, looking down as though embarrassed by it. 

“A job?” 

“Yeah. I need one. I’ve been submitting applications and shit, and I’ve got one place that said they’ll email me sometime today to let me know if I’ve got the job? I think? And I have another application I’ve got to fill out tonight. And… well, that on top of school… it’s kind of a lot to think about, is all,” he said, shrugging. 

(Alex was  _ definitely _ downplaying this, considering the fact that he would literally freeze or starve to death if he didn’t end up landing a job, but of course John did not need to know that.) 

“Oh.” John paused, his mood deflating just slightly. “Well, I was going to ask you if you could come over after school today, actually. Lafayette’s family always has this huge Disney movie marathon on the third Friday of every month. We wanted to invite you, but if you can’t—” 

Alex’s eyes widened. “You want  _ me _ to come?” he said. 

“Well, sure,” John said with a shrug. “It’d be fun. It was Angie’s idea, and Lafayette kept insisting he would simply die if you didn’t. But if you’ve got your application, obviously that’s way more important,” he added sincerely. 

“I can do the application from anywhere, though,” Alex said. “I could totally come over. I’ll just bring the papers and work on them there. I-I mean, unless you don’t—if, uh, if you don’t want me over there, I’ll be fine. But if it’s like, you know, a family thing or whatever, I-I don’t want to intrude.” He suddenly seemed oddly anxious, but John brushed it off. 

“Alex, no, no, we  _ want _ you to come,” he said, shaking his head at the absurdity of Alex’s statement. He almost laughed, actually. “You wouldn’t be intruding at all!” 

Alex shifted slightly on his feet. “Well… okay. If you say so.” He glanced up shyly at John. “It sounds like a lot of fun.” 

“Oh, trust me, it is,” John assured him. “You should hear the way Lafayette sings whenever we get to  _ Tangled _ ...” 

Just then, the door was slammed open as Lafayette and Hercules rushed in suddenly, panting, red in the face, mere seconds before the bell rang. Taking in their disheveled appearances and red faces, John’s eyebrows shot up so high that they rivaled skyscrapers in their altitude. 

“WE’RE NOT LATE!” Lafayette yelled triumphantly. His moment of glory was interrupted by a very, very annoyed Mr. Burgoyne. 

“Both of you, get in your seats, immediately,” he snapped. “Next time you are not  _ sitting in your assigned seats _ by the time the bell rings, I will mark you as tardy regardless of whether or not you are in the classroom.” 

“But, Monsieur—” Lafayette protested. 

“Sit  _ down _ .” 

Scowling, Lafayette made a show of dropping into his seat with a heavy and dramatic sigh, and Hercules followed suit. (Though Herc did so with significantly less theatrics.) 

“Laf, Herc, what the  _ fuck _ ,” John hissed, leaning forward. “Were you—” He broke off shaking his head. “You  _ know _ what you look like right now, don’t you?” 

Lafayette glanced down at himself, then at Herc, and frowned. “...like we were late and in a rush to get to class?” 

“No,” Herc muttered, “that’s not what he means, Laf. And John, take care to remember I am asexual.” 

“ _ I _ might know that, but the rest of the class does  _ not _ .” 

Alex, meanwhile, watched the entire exchange with a barely-suppressed grin, what Lafayette looked as though it was slowly dawning on him just what John had been referring to. He flushed dark red and ducked his head, muttering something about “not even liking Herc in  _ that _ way anyway.” Hercules’ expression fell flat. 

And with that, they were off to another almost-completely-normal day. 

“Now,” Burgoyne announced briskly. “I’m sure that you all recall the speeches I had you write a few days ago in class?” 

The majority of the class nodded or voiced their assent. 

“Right. Good. Well, you all are going to be giving these speeches for the class today.” Burgoyne smiled as the students let out collective groans. John frowned. He wasn’t particularly averse to public speaking—he could handle it, at the very least—but he recalled the halfway decent speech he’d written a few days ago with a grimace, his stomach twisting slightly at the idea of reading  _ that _ in front of the class. 

“I’ll hand your speeches back to you—they’re graded, but mind you, the presentation is also going to be a large part of the final grade—and then you’ll all have about thirty minutes to practice.” With that, Burgoyne began passing back papers, and once John and Alex got theirs, they immediately turned to Hercules and Lafayette. 

“Okay,” John said. “Who’s ready to die?” 

Lafayette shook his head. “Non! Don’t say that, John! This will be  _ fun _ ,” he insisted. “The beauty, the excitement, the… the  _ thrill _ that comes from standing in front of an audience…” 

“We know, we know, you’re obsessed with theatre and performing and all things related and therefore this is going to be so much fun for you. We get it, Laf,” John said dryly. 

“I actually kind of like the speech I wrote,” Hercules put in. “So it won’t be that bad, I think.” 

Alex, meanwhile, was absolutely smoldering with determination by this point. “I am  _ so _ ready,” he said, his voice deadly. “I’m going to deliver this speech with incredible potency and persuasion, words dripping from a silver tongue that stir up emotion in every ear they reach.  _ No one _ will be able to contend with my brilliance—just you wait.” 

There was a long pause. 

“Alex,” Hercules said finally, “have you ever considered joining the debate team?” 

“Or theatre,” Lafayette pointed out. “You would be  _ un merveilleux _ performer.” 

The tips of Alex’s ears reddened slightly under the attention. “I, uh… debate sounds fun. Maybe. John mentioned it to me before.” He coughed awkwardly, then said, “Can we just… practice our speeches now?” 

“Right,” John agreed, nodding. “Good idea.” 

They got to practicing, and John found that he was actually kind of enjoying it. Maybe it had a little something to do with the fact that he had an excuse to stare at Alex while he talked. Just a little.  _ Maybe _ . 

Class actually didn’t seem like it would be that bad for a little while. Then they got to presenting their speeches, and everything went to hell. 

Alex was up first, and he may have actually scared the students sitting in the front row of desks. His speech was compelling, eloquent, breathtaking. And he got loud— _ really loud _ —at certain points, too. Even Mr. Burgoyne looked somewhat intimidated. It was great. 

John gave his speech, and Hercules gave his (Herc got a bit aggressive, too, though it was nothing compared to Alex’s fit of passion) and they both went fine. 

But then Lafayette walked to the front of the room to give his speech. 

He began with a smile and a flourish and began speaking, projecting his voice well and articulating each word. However, he only got through about one sentence before Burgoyne cleared his throat loudly. 

“Excuse me, but I’d prefer if you spoke a little more understandably,” the teacher interrupted in a snobbish tone. 

“Erm—what?” Lafayette seemed a bit taken aback by the comment. 

“I said,  _ speak more understandably _ ,” Burgoyne repeated, very slowly and very loudly. “As in, you know, pronounce words properly? Speak coherent English?” John heard suppressed giggles from the across the classroom, and a wave of fury and disbelief surged through him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex clench his fists, knuckles turning white. 

Lafayette turned pink. “Right, of course, Monsieur Burgoyne. I shall begin again—” 

“It’s  _ Mister _ Burgoyne, not Monsieur,” the teacher corrected, and John felt his blood boiling. “Anyway, don’t bother giving your speech if you can’t even speak proper English.” 

Laf’s face morphed into an expression of indignation and frustration. “Monseiur,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage, “I shall have you know that I speak English very well, albeit with an accent. I have a good grasp of grammar and my speech is technically excellent.” 

Burgoyne’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, but I am your English teacher, and a native speaker of English language, and as a figure of authority, I’m telling you right now that you need to sit down, shut up, and listen to me, because your speech is far from passable. I don’t know how you even got into an honors class.” 

Lafayette made a noise of protest, though it was clear his resolve was rapidly vanishing, along with any trace of self-esteem. “But sir, you must realize, my marks last year were—” 

Burgoyne tutted, completely ignoring Laf’s arguments. “I suppose you’ll have to take a zero for this assignment…” he sighed as he made a mark in his gradebook. 

"But--" 

_"Enough!"_ Burgoyne shouted, slamming his hand on the desk, and Lafayette shrank back. "I could have you written up for insubordination," he said coldly. 

“That’s a large part of your grade, you know—public speaking," he continued, getting right back to what he'd been saying. "We’ll have more assignments like this in the future. You’ve got a lot of work to do,  _ Monsieur Lafayette _ .”

Burgoyne sneered this last sentence in a disgusted tone as the classroom tittered, and John would’ve jumped up and socked him in the face right then if it hadn’t been for Lafayette. The French teen’s fists were clenched tight at his sides, his head bowed in humiliation. 

“I—I have to—bathroom,” he mumbled before darting to the door and slipping quickly out of the classroom. 

Alex stood up immediately and began marching straight over to Burgoyne, his face dark with fury. A small part of John was startled for a brief moment at how eager Alex was to defend someone he’d just barely met—but the larger part of him realized very quickly that there were more important things to occupy his mind, mainly 1. finding Laf and making sure he was okay and 2.  _ stopping Alex from making an idiotic decision and getting himself suspended _ . 

“Alex, no!” John said, jumping up and grabbing Alex by the wrist. The shorter boy whirled around suddenly, his expression morphing from anger into something that resembled fear for a split-second, then jerked his hand away from John. 

“Alex, leave it,” John said. “You’ll get yourself suspended.” 

“I don’t _ care _ —John, you  _ heard _ what he said—” Alex snarled, but he was cut off. 

“I’m going to find Lafayette,” Hercules said firmly, and then he was gone. 

“Alex, come on. The best thing we can do is go after Lafayette.” 

“John, we can’t just—” 

“Ignore Burgoyne’s disgusting bigotry and focus on the well-being of our friend instead?” John prompted dryly. 

Alex scowled. “...Fine. Let’s go find Laf,” he relented after a moment. 

“We’re going to the bathroom, too,” John called unnecessarily as they exited the classroom, not bothering to wait for approval from the teacher. (Never mind the fact that they could get in a significant amount of trouble for technically skipping class.) 

John raced through the halls and toward the men’s bathroom, Alexander right at his heels. When they arrived and skidded through the doors, they were met with a sight that made John’s heart clench. 

Lafayette was curled up under one of the sinks, shoulders shaking, crying silently into his knees. Hercules was kneeling in front of him, one hand on Lafayette’s arm. Herc was speaking gently and trying to coax him out, but he didn’t seem to be having much luck. 

“Laf, come on. It’s okay. I’m your friend, remember? I’m not here to judge you. You’ve got a beautiful voice, and Burgoyne’s a dick,” Herc said firmly. 

Lafayette made no response. 

“Talk to me, Laf,” Hercules urged, but his friend only shook his head. 

“Hey. Lafayette.” Alex walked up to where Lafayette was curled up and dropped to a crouch in front of him. “Burgoyne’s a jerk. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. English is a hard language—it’s considered one of the hardest in the world to learn as a second language, actually, second only to Mandarin in terms of—” and he was getting off topic again,  _ shut up Alex, shut up shut up shut up—   _

“Anyway,” John cut in, which Alex was grateful for. “His point is, you’re trying really hard, and you’re doing really well. You’ve got an accent, sure, but hey, the accent’s  _ cute _ . And you probably have a better grasp of English grammar than Burgoyne himself does, let’s be honest.” 

That, at least, managed to elicit a weak laugh out of Lafayette, but he still didn’t say anything. 

“Lafayette, pourquoi ne parles-tu pas?” Alex said gently. John glanced away, recalling how Lafayette had gotten so emotional when he found out Alex could speak French. 

There was a long pause. Finally, lifting his blotchy, tear-stained face, Lafayette took a shaky breath and said in a choked voice, “He-he would not even _listen_ to me." He dropped his head again, whispering, " _Ugly_. It's--max vois--it is ugly."  


“Laf,  _ no _ ,” Alex said insistently. “Your voice isn’t ugly. You have  _ nothing _ to be ashamed of. Listen, you’re fluent in  _ two _ languages! Can Burgoyne boast  _ that _ much?” 

“Il—il parle mieux l'anglais que moi,” Lafayette muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Pourquoi est-ce que j'essaye même?" 

_He speaks better English than me. Why do I even try?_ Alex felt his heart clench as words came back, words hurled at him over years of abuse, cursing his accent, the way he would slip into either Spanish or French when he was hurt, scared, emotional, _in pain_ \-- 

_No. This isn't about me_ , Alex snarled inwardly. 

“And who says English is the best language, or that knowing it makes you better than someone else?” he retorted to Lafayette. “Actually, your English isn’t even bad. It’s really good, you just have an accent, which is nothing to be ashamed of. So what if his English ‘sounds’ better than yours—I mean, come on, your English is easily better than  his French, wouldn’t you say?” 

Another weak laugh, and the French teen nodded. “Oui… Yes. It is,” he said, speaking in hesitant English now. “M-ma m è re—Martha, I mean to say—she has always told me that my English is très bon. It is very good, I mean. I had to learn it very quickly…” 

“That’s right,” John put in. “Seriously. We’re not just saying this because we’re your friends. You’re incredible for how much you’ve learned and how quickly you adapted to life in America. That shit’s hard, and you’ve done it really well.” 

Lafayette nodded, then dropped his head back onto his knees again. He’d stopped crying, thank god. They were getting somewhere. 

“Lafayette,” Hercules said firmly, reaching out to gently rub Laf’s shoulder. “I know this isn’t easy. What Burgoyne said to you hit a sore spot. But when life knocks you down, you’ve gotta get the fuck back up again, right?” His lips quirked up into a smile as he said this. 

There was a long, heavy pause, and then Lafayette slowly uncurled and scooted out from under the sink. 

“Let’s go back to class,” he said firmly, his voice suddenly so much more confident as he wiped his face with his sleeve, and the others smiled. 

. 

. 

. 

Alex needed this job. Badly. 

He’d found money here and there, worked a couple of odd jobs, and even resorted to pickpocketing while he was on the run, which built up a small collection of funds that he’d used for bus fares and food. But that was running low, and Alex knew that if he was going to stay here, he needed some way to consistently make money. 

The job he was hoping for—the one he was supposed to receive an email about tonight—paid about $9 an hour, so if he worked a few hours every day, that’d be enough for, like, food. And possibly winter clothes from a thrift shop. And stuff. 

If he didn’t get it, he wouldn’t have much time to look for another before he either froze to death under the bridge one night or ran out of money for food and proceeded to starve. 

So, yeah. This was kind of a big deal. 

But maybe he didn’t need to think about that. Maybe, just for tonight, until he got that email, he could try to relax and just watch Disney movies with his friends. 

He cracked a smile. 

_ Friends _ . 

The one thing Alex’s hadn’t expected to find when he showed up in Revolution, New York. 

Right now, Alex was sitting on the couch in the Washingtons’ living room, his email open on Lafayette’s laptop in front of him, holding the papers for his application in his one hand and a black ballpoint pen in the other. 

“JOHN!” Lafayette was shouting from somewhere in the kitchen. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SPATULA?” 

John, who was currently standing atop the living room coffee table and attempting to balance Laf’s spatula on top of his head, froze. “Wh-why do you immediately accuse me?” he called back, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. Alex stifled a laugh. Hercules, meanwhile, was too busy struggling to work the DVR and failing miserably to really notice. 

“John,” called a very impatient Lafayette, “every  _ single _ time one of my kitchen instruments goes missing, you are the culprit.  _ Every _ .  _ Time _ .” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about~” John responded in a rather suspiciously high-pitched tone, continuing to balance the spatula as he pivoted on his heel, spinning around on the table. “You don’t even need the spatula right now, you can worry about it later…” 

_ “Lies!” _ Lafayette hissed as he marched in from the kitchen without warning, brandishing a frying pan. “YOU HAVE BEEN CAU— how you say-? oh, yes—CAUGHT  _ RED-HANDED _ , YOU THIEF!” 

John choked on his next words, practically falling off the table as he thrust out the spatula in a peace offering. “No! Laf, I’m sorry! Please, take it! Here! I’ll never steal your utensils again, I promise!” 

“He has his fingers crossed behind his back,” Alex pointed out casually from his seat on the couch, and he burst out laughing at the look on Lafayette’s face—he swore he’d never seen Laf look so affronted. 

John whipped around, an expression of hurt on his face. “I have been betrayed…” he whispered. “By my own Alexander…” 

For some reason, that made Alex’s heart flutter—hearing John say that.  _ My own Alexander _ . Apparently realizing what that sounded like, John flushed scarlet and whirled back around to face Lafayette. 

“I beg your forgiveness,” he said, dropping to his knees. 

“Très bien,” Lafayette relented, turning up his nose and sniffing in disgust. “I shall be merciful…  _ this time _ . And there is one condition to my mercy: you must wash the spatula before returning it to its place in the kitchen, because it has touched your hair, and that is  _ nasty _ .” 

“Right,” John said, jumping up and darting for the sink. 

Hercules suddenly let out a frustrated sound that was somewhere between a groan and a scream. “How do you even  _ work _ this stupid piece of technology?” he cried, beyond exasperated. “And for that matter, Lafayette, why are we beginning our Disney marathon  _ on a DVR?! _ Your parents are loaded! Do you not have Netflix or even, I don’t know, a blu-ray player at the very least?!” 

“We only have one copy of Snow White, and it is on VHS, and it is my  _ favorite _ , and therefore we are watching it first, and the only way to watch it is on the DVR!” Lafayette shouted, already back in the kitchen. 

“Well, I have  _ absolutely no idea _ how to get it to work, because someone else always does it, so someone else is going to have to do it this time, too, or we’re not watching Snow White!” Hercules shouted right back. Just then, the sound of the front door opening caught everyone’s attention. 

“What’s going on here? Why aren’t we watching Snow White?” Angelica said breezily as she walked into the room. 

“Angelica! You’re home!  _ Help me _ ,” Hercules pleaded, gesturing frantically to the DVR. 

“Ah. Of course,” Angelica responded, dropping her school bag on the ground and hurrying over to help Hercules. 

“Alex!” Eliza said, walking in next with Peggy trailing right behind her. “You’re here for movie night?” 

“Well, yeah. Couldn’t turn down such a wonderful offer,” Alex responded with a grin. “I do have one question, though—we  _ are _ going to watch Moana, right?” 

“OF COURSE WE ARE GOING TO WATCH MOANA!” Lafayette practically screamed from the kitchen, making everyone jump. “PROBABLY TWICE!” 

“...I assume that’s a sufficient answer?” Eliza said with a slightly nervous laugh. 

“Hey, Laf, you’re making cookies, right?” Peggy called as she waltzed into the kitchen. 

“Oui, as always,” Laf responded. 

“Mom and Dad are going to be home soon, aren’t they?” Eliza asked, dropping onto the couch next to Alexander. 

“That’s right,” Angelica affirmed. “Dad’s staying late to finish up grading some papers, and Mom’s renewing the spells around the—” 

_ “Angelica!” _ Eliza hissed suddenly, and the older girl froze suddenly. Alex was staring at her, bewildered. 

“Oh. Shit,” Angelica said eloquently. Hercules groaned. 

“Spells?” Alex echoed. 

“Oh, uh, did I say spells?” Angelica said flippantly. “Sorry, I’ve been re-reading the Harry Potter books. Must’ve slipped out by accident. Mom—Mrs. Washington—she’s got some emails to send, which is why she’s still at the school. She’s one of the guidance counselors, did you know that?” 

Alex’s brow furrowed in thought. “No. I didn’t. That’s… that’s cool, though.” 

Eliza laughed awkwardly, and Angelica quickly busied herself with hooking up the DVR to the TV. Hercules fiddled absently with the box of the Snow White VHS tape, avoiding Alex’s eyes. 

Alex, meanwhile, was reasonably suspicious. 

Angelica’s explanation made sense, somewhat. Then again, the others had reacted pretty oddly- they honestly had looked panicked- which didn’t make much sense if it really was just an accidental reference. All the evidence pointed to the idea that they were hiding something. 

But then, that was probably just wishful thinking on Alex’s part. 

First of all, in all of the minimal experience Alexander had with magic, it didn’t come in the form of spells. (Though that didn’t necessarily rule out the possibility.) Second of all, what were the chances he would  _ just so happen _ to run into another of magic user—not even just one, but a  _ group _ of magic users, if Eliza’s and Herc’s reactions were anything to go by—when he’d only ever met one other before in his entire fifteen years of life, and that person was now dead? 

The chances were pretty damn slim, to say the very least. 

But then… 

He  _ hadn’t _ just ended up here by chance. He’d been called here. And sure, maybe the pulling sensation he’d felt while he was on the run was just his imagination, but maybe— _ maybe _ —it had nothing to do with his imagination. Maybe it everything to do with his magic. And maybe it had just a little something to do with this odd group of people… 

But maybe Alex was just thinking wishfully; maybe this only seemed suspicious as a result of of his desperation to not be alone anymore. 

He tried very hard to push it out of his mind. 

Still, it was on that day that Alex first began to wonder. 

And after that day, after he began wondering, he found it very, very difficult to stop. 

. 

. 

. 

Not too long afterwards, the entire family was sprawled across the Washingtons’ living room, including George and Martha. There were several plates of Laf’s cookies strewn about. 

They had finished a number of movies—Snow White, the original cartoon Cinderella, and the new live-action Cinderella (at Angelica’s insistence), among others—and were halfway through their first playthrough of Moana when Lafayette’s laptop let out a little  _ ding _ . 

Alex’s eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet. “That’s my email,” he said, and Angelica immediately grabbed the remote and hit the pause button. Opening the laptop, Alexander glanced at his inbox, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the new email. He clicked on it, and he let out an audible gasp when he read its contents. 

“I got it!” he said. “I got the job!” 

Instantly, loud cheers went up all around the room. “What job is it?” Lafayette asked eagerly, and Alex smirked. 

“You’re talking to the newest barista at Espresso Self,” he responded. 

. 

. 

. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you guys catch that? perhaps the very beginnings of pining and mullette? aLSO 
> 
> KIND OF IMPORTANT THINGY HERE. 
> 
> the magic will not be a Huge aspect of the plot of the story for a little while. it will be very present, but the plot isn't going to revolve around magic and battles and all that exciting stuff for quite a bit, but trust me, up until then it's still Really good and Really gay and Really Really Painful. 
> 
> also, about everyone's magic: there will be thorough explanations in the story, eventually, about how all of this works. trust me, it's very thought-out. it'll just be awhile :P 
> 
> thank you for reading!!!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emotional pain, physical pain, and Too Much Secret Keeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sO I JUST WANTED TO SAY. 
> 
> to every single one of you who has left a comment of any kind, it makes my entire day. when i log in and check my dash and see that there's something in my inbox, i get so giddy and excited. it gives me this amazing beautiful warm fuzzy feeling inside because i love this fic so much and i'm so unbelievably happy that other people like it. so thank you, thank you, thank you _so much_ to all of you who have ever left a comment on this work, because that kind of positive feedback is invaluable to me and it's what keeps me writing, week after week. 
> 
> and with that... 
> 
> enjoy this week's chapter!! :D

.

.

.

Between school, homework (the workload for his AP classes was insane), and his induction into the debate club and a few other extracurriculars, Alexander didn’t always have time for work. He managed to work something out with the manager, though, who was surprisingly understanding.

As a result, his schedule was relatively flexible.

Each week, he usually managed to work for at least two or three hours or so almost every day, which was enough for food, and that was all he needed immediately. He managed to slowly save up enough that he could buy a stash of water bottles, so he didn’t need to keep refilling the same dirty plastic bottle at the water fountain every day, over and over.

He was a natural at financial matters, which paid off big time. He meticulously budgeted everything he earned, slowly saving up for the things he needed—basic hygiene items were important, and there were a lot of those to buy, as well as school supplies and a few more cheap notebooks. He scrounged for cheap winter clothes at thrift shops, as well as an extra set of regular clothes so he didn’t have to wear the same thing every day to school.

Figuring he wouldn’t want his stuff stolen, he also dragged a large cardboard box to his spot under the bridge. Then, he bought a shovel.

He had to go nearly a week with almost no sleep whatsoever in order to get it done, which sucked, but it was worth it. Once the hole was dug, he shoved all of his stuff into the box and then dropped it into the hole, covering it just enough that it’d be easy to retrieve when necessary but that it still looked like nothing more than an inconspicuous patch of dirt.

Unorthodox, but hey, it was free low-security storage space.

 _Damn_ , it was nice to have a (somewhat) reliable source of money.

Alex washed his hair and face and brushed his teeth in the sinks of the school bathrooms. He bought the cheapest food money could buy. He washed his clothes at the coin laundry down the street from the school once in awhile so that they didn’t get too grimy.

And above all, he maintained the appearance of an ordinary, super-not-homeless high school kid.

It wasn’t easy, that was for certain.

But then, Alex’s life had never been easy. So that was nothing new.

.

.

.

It was getting colder.

The fourth Friday of that October, exactly a week after his first movie night with the Washingtons, was Halloween. People were getting crazy excited about it, and Alexander’s newfound friends—Lafayette in particular—were constantly pestering him about what his costume would be.

“I’m not going to wear a costume,” he’d said tiredly again and again, but Laf wouldn’t let it go. Honestly, Alex didn’t really want to go trick-or-treating at all—besides the fact that it was intended for little kids, he just wasn’t all that fond of sweets.

But in the end he’d decided that it would be worth it to go. After all, free candy meant free calories, and he was never sure when he’d next end up desperate for every scrap of food he could get his hands on. A candy stash wasn’t exactly nutritious, but it could possibly save his life in the foreseeable future—especially with the winter coming up.

He’d be less likely to freeze to death if he had some food in him, and considering the late November forecasts Alex was seeing, freezing to death was beginning to look like more and more of a realistic possibility.

It scared him.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it did.

“Mon ami, please,” Lafayette was begging him now. They were sitting in English class, because that period (along with APUSH) was when most of Alex’s conversations with his friends seemed to happen. They all had a few other periods together—their schedules were very, very similar, in fact—but these two particular classes typically provided the most time for whispered conversations.

Or, in Laf’s case, extremely loud, definitely-not-at-all-whispered conversations accompanied by dramatic hand gestures.

“You need a costume!” he insisted. “You cannot go trick-or-treating with no costume. It is a staple of the Halloween tradition!”

“Ignore him,” Herc interrupted. “He’s obsessed with costumes. I’m pretty sure it’s a French people thing.”

“Costumes are beautiful! You’re—you’re taking Fashion and Design, how can you _not_ appreciate costumes?” Lafayette was incredulous.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate them,” Herc said, holding up his hands, “but if Alex doesn’t want to wear one, it’s not like he has to. We don’t want to force you,” he added, speaking directly to Alex now. Alex let out the breath he’d been holding.

He didn’t want to have to tell them why he wasn’t going to wear a costume. The truth being? He couldn’t _afford_ one. These guys were his friends, sure, but he certainly wasn’t any closer to telling them about the fact that he, you know, was living homeless and almost broke under a bridge.

Nope, he was most definitely keeping _that_ secret.

Lafayette heaved a melodramatic sigh. “ _Fine_ ,” he conceded at last, sounding miserable. “Little Alex does not have to wear a costume. I will not pressure you, mon petit…” He trailed off, staring so sadly at the ground that Alex didn’t have the heart to get angry about being called “little”.

Then John showed him something on his phone, a Tumblr post or some shit like that, and Laf snapped right back to his ordinary self, laughing so hard he snorted.

They settled back into their work.

Alex was left thinking.

Thinking about things he hadn’t even considered the possibility of. Thinking of what would happen if he told them. If he’d just blurted it out right then and there.

It was _impossible_ , of course. Not an option. But if…

 _No_ , he told himself. There was no room for “ifs”. By telling anyone even the slightest bit of information about his situation, he was putting himself in way too much unnecessary danger. He had to keep quiet, even if there was a part of him that desperately wanted to be able to just _talk_ to someone about it, to have someone else who understood.

That was the part of him that missed Thomas so desperately.

Alexander let out an involuntary yawn, then snapped his jaw shut. All of those nights without sleep had been slowly catching up to him. Exhaustion tugged at his body.

_No. I can’t. I’ve got a—an essay to write, or something? I think?_

Before he understood what was happening, he was nodding forward over the desk, drifting into unconsciousness, and then he was dreaming, dreaming of…

_Of waking up to nothing but darkness._

.

.

.

_The dream started as it always did._

_Alexander wasn’t sure how much time had passed._ He opened his eyes with a bit of difficulty, then closed them, but there was no difference. It was too dark.

 _Dark, dark, always dark._ It’d been dark forever. He lived in darkness.

No—wait.

 _Magic. I can use my magic. Come on, Alex,_ **_think_** _._

He strained his eyes, the light magic in his body allowing his eyes to easily make out more than the average person probably could have. He could see vague shapes, at the very least, vision slowly sharpening as the moments passed.

He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it, gasping in pain from inexplicably sore muscles and falling back onto the floor. It was cold, hard, made of stone…

He had to remember. Why couldn’t he remember? What had _happened_ to him?

He was covered in bruises. _Bruises…_

 _Fists flying at him, kicks to the ribs, being shoved against the wall, hands at his throat, choking him, why can’t he_ **_breathe_** _—_

He’d been kidnapped.

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_ , this was bad.

“Hey… are you okay?”

The voice came out of nowhere. Startled, Alex jumped back, nearly screaming in surprise.

“Whoa! Dude, calm down. I’m just trying to help you out, okay? Listen, they kidnapped you, right? Did they hurt you too badly?”

Alex tried to sit up again, wincing at the pain, but he managed to get into a sitting position. He didn’t think he was that badly injured. Just bruises and sore muscles, it seemed.

“N… no,” he said in response to the voice, and as he did, the speaker finally came into view.

Concentrating his magic in his eyes, Alex was able to make out the boy’s features. He seemed pretty tall—taller than Alex, at least, but then Alex was shorter than everyone—and he had a head full of dark curly hair that could most accurately be described as _huge_.

“Well, that’s good,” he said. “I mean, don’t get used to it, though. You’re gonna be black and blue and bleeding in a few days—shit, that sounded like a threat. It’s not, I swear. Listen, kid—do you know where you are right now?”

Alex paused, swallowing thickly. “No?” he said.

“Ah. Okay. Well. Neither do I. Not exactly, at least. But I do know that these guys—the people who kidnapped you—they’re in it for money. They’re part of the black market. They’ll do anything—and I mean _anything_ —to get you to use your magic so that they can take it, store it, and profit off of it. That’s about all I know on the matter.”

Alex frowned. “Profit? Black market?”

“Uh, yeah? Genuine magic sells really well, y’know. It’s not easy to get, especially strong stuff like mine. I’m an elemental, by the way. Electricity’s my element. I can, you know, zap things.” The boy held up his hands and made finger guns. “Pew, pew!”

There were a lot of things Alex was trying to process in that moment, from the fact that this kid had literally just said “pew pew” to the fact that he’d been kidnapped and would probably be exploited and, from the sounds of it, _tortured_ for his magic.

Needless to say, it was a lot to try and wrap his head around. Alex was getting more and more scared by the second. This sounded… very very not good. To say the least.

“So, you got all that?” the boy prompted.

“Uh… y-yeah, I think,” Alex said.

“Okay, now that we’re past that and you know and understand the fact that this is not your average family-friendly weekend getaway, and that you’re going to want to develop a tolerance for pain…” The boy took a deep breath.

“ _Welcome to hell_. Let me introduce myself. I’m Thomas, Thomas Jefferson, and you’re definitely not allowed to give me a nickname. No ‘Tommy’ or any of that shit, or I might punch you. I’m fifteen. I ended up here because I’m an idiot who thought it would be a good idea to ask for help when I was homeless and broke, and these pieces of shit found me. That was…” He broke off, pausing.

“Well.” Thomas shook his head. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t have a clue how long ago that was or how long I’ve been here. Could be a couple months. Probably not more than two or three, I’m guessing.”

Alex nodded slowly, still having trouble processing. He was adapting to the circumstances pretty well, doing his usual routine of taking stock of his situation and analyzing the best possible response. “I’m… I’m Alexander Faucette. Alex is fine, though. I’m fifteen, too. As for how I got here…”

He paused, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I was… I was in the foster care system. My foster father… I-I don’t really know what happened. I—was kidnapped, I guess. I think. I don’t know all that much about my magic, either. I know it’s, like, light. I can manipulate light. And I can see better in the dark than most people can. Like right now.” He shivered. “It weakens my magic, though. Being in the dark all the time. It drains me and I get weak and tired and sick more easily.”

He could see Thomas nodding.

“Okay. Alright,” he said. “Well. Now we know each other, at least. You better not be too annoying, because if we’re stuck in this hellhole together, we’re probably going to want to be friends or some shit like that.”

Frankly, Alex was already annoyed with Thomas, but he found himself agreeing. If it really was as bad as Thomas said it was, well, at least he’d have someone.

_At least he wouldn’t be alone._

.

.

.

Lafayette interrupted their conversation with a hushed whisper.

“Little Alex is asleep,” he said softly, and John and Herc immediately turned their attention to the boy in the seat beside John. His head had fallen forward and was resting on the desk, and his breathing was deep and even. He was, in fact, asleep.

It only took a second, though, for John to realize that Alex wasn’t sleeping peacefully.

He shifted as John watched, flinching slightly and mumbling something that John barely caught. “Thomas…”

John’s eyebrows shot up when he heard the name. There was no question about it now; Alex definitely had issues with that name. Thomas…

It was unlikely that he was talking about the same Thomas that they all knew, the Thomas whom Lafayette had known as a child, the ridiculously flamboyant Thomas Jefferson who had shown up in the town of Revolution, New York a little over a month ago with no explanation. In fact, it was more than unlikely. _Highly improbable_ would be probably be a more accurate phrase.

 _But not impossible_ , John reminded himself.

No, it certainly wasn’t impossible.

As John contemplated the possibilities, Lafayette was reaching over to gently shake Alex in an attempt to wake him. The boy was starting to look more and more upset, and it was clear that his dreams were troubling. Then he let out something that sounded akin to a whimper, and John’s breath caught.

“We have to wake him up,” he muttered. Alex didn’t seem to be responding to Laf’s gentle shaking, and whatever was going on in his dream wasn’t good. He had to wake up.

So John grabbed his water bottle. He unscrewed the lid. And he dumped all of the contents on Alex’s head.

Needless to say, Alex woke up.

“Wh-wha-?!” he gasped, sitting upright suddenly.

“Shh,” John said quickly. “You’re fine, Alex. You—you were just having a nightmare or something, but you’re awake now. You’re here in English class.” He waited with bated breath for Alex’s reaction.

Alex was rather pale, and he looked like he was having trouble swallowing, but at the very least, he seemed to be aware of his surroundings. “O-okay. Th… thanks for… for waking me up,” he said, and his gaze darted from John to Laf to Herc and back again, looking inexplicably _scared_.

_Why would he be scared of them…?_

John frowned. He was aware of where he was; he wasn’t having a flashback. There was no reason for him to be scared right now, was there?

_Unless…_

Unless he was hiding something. It hit John, then, altogether suddenly. Of course. Alex _was_ hiding something. _His magic_.

In an attempt to reassure him, John sent Alex a gentle smile. “Don’t worry,” he said casually, gesturing to Burgoyne, who was still droning on through his lecture in a monotonous voice, all the while periodically shooting the boys nasty looks. “You didn’t miss anything important.”

Alex nodded, seeming somewhat more at ease now, even a little relieved. His posture relaxed, and he settled back into his work—he was writing something, though John didn’t know what it was—without seeming to care about the fact that his hair and shoulders were now soaking wet.

John, Laf, and Herc exchanged relieved glances. Alex was okay, at least for now.

Seriously, though, they _really_ needed to talk to Alex about this soon. Judging from the look of things, the sooner Alex found out that they had magic and that he could trust them with his own secret, the better off they’d all be.

.

.

.

Alexander seemed to retreat into himself, and for the remainder of the period, John, Lafayette, and Hercules talked.

They discussed in hushed tones, throwing furtive glances up at the teacher and their peers every once in awhile, and overall it was very obvious that what they were discussing was of both great importance and great secrecy.

John Burgoyne’s lips curled up into a smile at that, and he settled further into his seat as he tried to be discreet, holding his book higher in front of him.

He wasn't reading.

He was staring at the children.

They may have had their little secrets, but so did he. The difference?

He knew theirs.

.

.

.

“We’re telling him. By Monday,” John said firmly.

“But Laurens…” Hercules looked away. “Look, it really does seem like he needs our help, okay? But we've got to be careful. This is big. Washington wanted us to wait for Alex to come to us, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but he also said that if Alex is in danger at home or whatever he'll be less likely to ask for help!”

“It has only been two weeks…” Lafayette sighed. “Non, not even that. We have to be careful. In the end, we know so very little about our Alexander. He seems as though he is doing okay for now, without our intervention, non?”

“Laf. He just had a nightmare. In the fucking middle of class.”

Laf stared back helplessly. “I-I do not know! I don't know what is the best path—course of movement—”

“Course of action,” Herc spoke up absently.

“Yes. That. I only know that we should be careful.”

John sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. His mind flicked back to the way Alex had looked at them when John first woke him—guarded, terrified. Yeah, they knew he was hiding his magic, but…

He could be hiding a lot of other things, too. God knows what. And Lafayette was right; they’d only known him for a couple of weeks now.

“Fine,” John muttered. “Fine. Okay. But I don't like it.”

.

.

.

Alex sighed, staring at the clock.

The period was almost over. Burgoyne had gone over basic grammar and parts of speech—nothing Alex didn’t already have a firm grasp of. He hadn’t bothered to pay any attention whatsoever past the first sentence of the lecture, losing himself in the story he was writing.

Alex didn’t usually dabble in fiction; his writing efforts were typically geared primarily towards essays on politics and current events. But the inspiration has struck him that morning, and he wasn’t one to just let an idea fester in his mind. When he had it, he immediately set about writing it. As soon as the spark was there, he took advantage of it, using it to its fullest potential before it could die out.

And so here he was, writing a sappy short story about—and this nearly made Alex want to gag— _romance_.

 _Of all things_.

He didn’t know why he’d been struck by the sudden inspiration—it _definitely_ didn’t have anything to do with John, he assured himself—and he didn’t know why he was enjoying himself so much while writing it, but he was, and it frankly disgusted him just a little bit.

He was still lost in the story when he heard the laughter.

It was quiet, restrained, but still there. Malicious giggling, whispered words. _Immigrant shit. Can’t even speak proper English. God, did you_ hear _his speech last week?_

They were talking about Lafayette.

Alex gripped his pencil so tightly in his hand that his knuckles began to turn white. Oh, _hell_ no. No one was going to get away with talking about Laf like that. No one should talk about _anyone_ like that, frankly, but the fact that Laf had been nothing but kind to Alex—the fact that Laf had said he considered Alex a friend, when he knew he didn’t deserve it—that made Alex all the more ready to defend him.

Whirling around in his seat, Alex hissed at the kid behind him, “Shut up and focus on your work, asshole. And don’t fucking talk about him like that. His speech was probably written better than yours, anyway, you piece of shit.”

The kid looked understandably affronted at Alex’s sudden outlash. His expression of shock, however, quickly morphed into a sneer.

“I’ll talk about him however I want to fucking talk about him. Who’re you to tell me to shut up, anyway, considering you look like you got dressed out of a Goodwill bin?”

Okay, so _that_ hit a little closer to home, but Alex could take a hit or two. And he adamantly _refused_ to back down in embarrassment because of something as stupid as a few extra holes in his clothes. Instead, he fired back a scathing retort of his own.

“I’m surprised you even know what thrift stores are, Mr. Born-With-A-Silver-Spoon-In-My-Mouth. You’ve probably had your whole life handed to you, huh? Your parents are so rich, no one cares that you’re a total dumbass. You’re going to have to buy your way through life with your parents’ money considering you’ll never be smart or competent enough to do anything on your own, and you’ll sit there in your own little world thinking you’re so great while the rest of the world laughs at you and pities you. It’s sad, really.”

The boy’s sneer twisted into something far more furious at that, and the kid beside him cracked his knuckles.

“Well, well, well. You’ve got some fancy words, huh? It’s nice to meet you, too, you pathetic little shit. I’m Charles Lee and I hope you enjoyed saying that, because it better be worth a bloody nose,” he said, and the kid beside him grinned.

Alex knew he should back down. He knew he shouldn’t get involved in stuff like this.

But Charles Lee had insulted Lafayette, and Alex damn well wasn’t going to stand for that.

“That’s only if you actually manage to land a hit,” Alex said. “It might be difficult to aim when your enormous ego keeps getting in the way.”

Lee laughed.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he said, and his threatening words promised a whole lot of pain later, but honestly? Alex was pretty sure he wasn’t going to follow through on his threat. Most of the time, high school kids didn’t.

So in response to Lee’s threat, Alex merely rolled his eyes and turned back around in his seat. He tried to turn his attention back to his writing, but his blood was boiling with anger now, and he found himself completely unable to focus.

It wasn’t until after class that he found out that Lee’s threat had been far from empty.

The kid beside him was named George Eacker, as it turned out. He was of about average height and had a thick, muscular build. Alex, confident as he was that Lee didn’t intend to follow through on his threat, hadn’t bothered to consider how easily Eacker could overpower him.

Turns out he shouldn’t have been so cocky.

Alex stopped by the bathroom on his way to his next class, and he was washing his hands when he was hit with a shockingly powerful force from behind. In an instant, he was pinned with his back to the wall, staring straight into the face of George Eacker.

Charles Lee stood behind him, smirking and crossing his arms. “Why, hello again, Mr. Alexander Hamilton.”

Panic set in very quickly at the realization that Alex had absolutely no means of defending himself.

He analyzed the situation and calculated what an appropriate response would be to the best of his ability. He had his magic, yes—power tingling in the tips of his fingers, thrumming just beneath the skin—but to use that as self-defense would mean absolute disaster. If anyone found out… it’d end up killing him in the long run, no doubt. No, magic was out of the question. And without it, he had nothing, no ability to get free, not when Eacker was clearly so much stronger than he was. And while Eacker wasn’t particularly tall, Alex was still a whole lot shorter than he was.

Which was why it would be _absolutely idiotic_ to say anything that might piss off Lee and make this situation worse. Keeping that in mind, he formulated his response.

“What do you want, you assholes?” he spat.

Sometimes Alex wondered what it would be like to have even an ounce of self-preservation. _Might come in useful sometimes_ , he thought.

“You know, a word of advice—you might want to do yourself a favor and have a little more respect,” Lee said genially, sounding for all the world as though he were a teacher patiently scolding a misbehaving child. “Go on, Eacker.”

Using one hand to keep Alex’s wrists pinned above his head, Eacker punched Alex in the stomach. _Hard_. It hurt—not as badly as Alex had been hurt before, but the fist sinking into his gut certainly served to knock the breath out of him. Alex gasped in pain and suddenly found himself struggling for air.

“There we go, you’re a little quieter now. That’s much better,” Lee said, still wearing that disgustingly arrogant smirk. “Now, what were you saying earlier about what I said in English class? Something about not talking about your friends like that?” Lee laughed.

Alex gritted his teeth.

“Actually, yeah, exactly that,” he said, sounding a little out-of-breath but no less venomous. “No one talks shit about Laf like that. And like I said, his speech was better than yours, anyway. I’d know—I proofread it.”

Eacker punched him again, landing a blow that struck him hard in the nose, leaving behind a sharp pain and a metallic taste on Alex’s lips as blood dripped down his face.

“And I heard yours,” Alex finished, his voice a bit more strained as he tried not to let on any sign of pain, “ _both_ of yours, and just letting you know, they were absolute trash.”

“You know what, let me this time,” Lee said, sounding—was this even possible?—even _more_ disgusted and annoyed than he had before. Eacker stepped back a bit, still pinning Alex’s arms, while Lee socked Alex in the chest and stomach a couple times in quick succession. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, trying not to flinch or show the pain on his face.

It was too familiar.

He’d been pinned like this before, trapped and unable to escape—the pain, the terror—he was alone, no one to help him—

Alex hated himself for the tiny whimpers that escaped him.

Then, very suddenly, the grip on his wrists was gone, and Eacker was stepping away, and Lee was leaning forward to hiss in his ear—

“Next time maybe you’ll reconsider just who you decide to insult.”

And then they were gone, and Alex was alone in the bathroom, sinking to the ground against the wall, trying to get control over his breathing, and the bell for next period was ringing, and he was trying not to whimper again as the panic attack hit him full force.

George Eacker pinning him to the wall.

Charles Lee’s fists pounding into him.

_a hand coming down to hit him—_

_“show some respect, you_ brat _”_

 _furious voices screaming at him—the sharp cracking sound in his ribs—the pain across his torso, the bruises, the blood soaking his shirt, begging for it to just be_ over _already—_

Alex gasped, trying to count his breaths like he knew he was supposed to, trying to gain control over what he was feeling, but it wasn’t _working_ , he knew he needed needed to count but he didn’t know _how,_ he _didn’t know_ **_how_** _—_

Alex heard himself let out an involuntary sob.

The terror, the flashes of memory, the phantom pain so vivid it was almost real, it was all too much, too overwhelming.

He shut his eyes tightly and went limp, just waiting, waiting for it to be over.

And once it was, once he was finally able to think straight again, once his breathing was deeper and more even and he was no longer plagued by the intense feeling of absolute terror—once he was actually feeling some semblance of _okay_ again, he stood up shakily.

Splashed some water on his face.

Tried to gather himself, tried to collect all the scattered pieces of himself and pull himself together.

Then he gathered his things and prepared to head to his next class.

He had AP United States history, along with Lafayette, John, Hercules, and Eliza. And Washington was the teacher.

Great.

Alex already knew he couldn’t tell them about the events that had just transpired. He didn’t need these people worrying about him. The more they worried, the more likely they were to find out about everything they absolutely _couldn’t_ find out about.

His living situation.

His lingering bruises—bruises that had been left almost two months ago, bruises that should have been healed by now, but of course his body was shit at healing—not to mention his scars, the cigarette burns, all of the still-not-quite-healed lacerations across his body.

And, beneath all of that, the biggest secret of all: his magic.

All of that had to be kept far from prying eyes and ears, and the best way to ensure that was to keep his mouth shut and sealed about absolutely everything. He couldn’t give anyone reason to worry about him.

He grabbed some paper towels to wipe the blood from his face—his nose had stopped bleeding by now; Alex was sure that at least twenty minutes had passed since he’d slipped into the panic attack—and, after taking an extra moment to compose himself, he left the bathroom.

A little blood, a few bruises, a punch here and there—that much, he could handle on his own just fine.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just fyi,,,,, next week's chapter might be a bit late, depending upon certain circumstances that are out of my control. so. thought i should let y'all know. if everything goes according to plan, though, it _should_ be on time. so. 
> 
> anyway yes i'm aware this is a bit cryptic and vague, but yeah, with luck I'll see you all next tuesday per the usual!! love you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be complete at around thirty chapters, and it will update weekly every Tuesday for at least the first ten chapters (which is when I may need to reevaluate my life choices.) 
> 
> Yes, it will be the first of a series, and yes, it will be extremely painfully beautifully gay, and yes, it will be so full of angst that you might want to murder me. 
> 
> I'm so glad you read this, and feedback would be glorious!! Thank you ever so much and I'll see you all next Tuesday!!


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